


To Slip His Golden Fingers Through

by neslow



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, you get to decide who nurseys parents are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-06-06 21:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6771298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neslow/pseuds/neslow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's college and hockey and a big city for them to explore if they can get their act together. In which boys are bad at communicating feelings.<br/>(After defining the line of friendship and something more,  Nursey wants to take Dex home.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Written for the prompt: “You don’t need finesse when you’re winning."_

**/a/**

Boys can always be quite dense, when noticing things. This was true to Derek Nurse. Sure, he had noticed how Dex returned from summer with sea-kissed skin riddled with freckles, or how he simply had _grown_ in the months they were states away, shoulders broader and hands rough from work. But it wasn’t the same as how he noticed Bitty’s new habit of Skyping for hours at a time, or the decrease of Lardo’s presence in the Haus as senior year catches up to her, among other things. He didn’t understand why this was until the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving break.

It feels like a normal Tuesday morning. The air is cool as the sun still rises and the geese by Lake Quad shit all over the sidewalk. By midday it’ll be warm enough to find students studying by The Pond or lying in grass to soak up one of the last days of warmth before a Massachusetts winter blankets Samwell. He’s walking with Dex to the Commons, still too early in the morning for either of them to talk, a peaceful silence engulfed in an orange autumn morning. Dex stops walking and looks to the horizon of The Pond, rays of copper light shining onto golden clouds just beyond the trees. Nursey watches quietly, the only other sound the calls of birds and the thump of his own chest. Dex takes a picture on his phone and texts it to his mom.

“She likes sunrises,” he explains, cheeks tinged pink to match the sky. It’s a bashfulness he only shows for his family, when he waits until after the post-game madness of the locker room has cleared out to make a call to his dad to talk about how it went, or how he admit he knew how to braid hair, growing up with a younger sister, when Shitty was having a bad hair day and became desperate.

And, oh. _Oh_.

It felt like he had been hit with a brick.

They continue walking, Nursey rendered silent in the revelation that _it’s Dex_. The person he’s fallen for is the boy beside him, someone he’s seen day-in and day-out for the past year and who’s become such a part of his life that he’s been so blind about his feelings towards.

All of breakfast he feels like he’s harboring a secret.

**/b/**

In his morning classes he can’t seem to focus on the professors or contribute to any of the discussion, caught dwelling on _Why? Why_ _Dex?_ He’s mechanical and tense and has an explosive temper and is so unlike Nursey they couldn’t stand each other for the first half of last year.  The thing is, Nursey had been expecting to meet someone like himself, someone dedicated to trying to find the right words to communicate thoughts and feelings, and have it just _click_. A person whose emotional outlet is the pen and paper, not punches on the ice.

It’s just-- it’s new, is all; the stream of _whydoifeellikethis_ and _whatdoido_ in his head when he’s around Dex.

That weekend they study at Founder’s. They’re sitting next to each other at a table in the back of the library, Chowder and Farmer occupying the other side. Dex’s eyes are trained on his laptop as he completes simulators for his software tech. class, Chowder going over flashcards with his girlfriend. Nursey’s government textbook is lying open on the table, notebook on his lap. He’s written a page of half-minded notes until he zones out, observing the way in which Dex works, a certain nature of discipline in his features. His shoulders are hunched and he keeps one hand on the mouse, the other holding a pencil. It’s pretty late at night, but only twice does he go to rub his eyes, tired like the rest of them. Farmer and Chowder leave for the night at eleven, encouraging Nursey and Dex to do the same. Dex says he’ll sleep after some progress on his project and that he’ll see Chowder at morning practice.

Nursey muses that that aspect of Dex never changes, no matter if it’s the end of the year and all the other students can’t seem to care any longer, summer calling. No, Dex maintains a work ethic that can’t be taught, hardworking in character. It’s admirable.

Dex pushes his laptop away from him as one would push away their plate after they finished dinner. He stretches back in his seat, glancing at Nursey before speaking to the overhead lights, “You leaving too?”

If Nursey’s honest, he’s tired but he isn’t too inclined to leave. He yawns and replies, “Can’t get rid of me that easily, Poindexter.”

Dex settles back to sitting in his seat and pulls his laptop closer again, but not before nudging Dex’s foot under the table and offering a soft “Thanks” that left Nursey’s insides swimming.

It’s not until the next day when Nursey pulls out his notes to study that he notices the hearts subconsciously doodled in the margins. He groans and damns himself for writing with pen.


	2. Chapter 2

**/c/**

Nursey’s chill about it. There’s enough school and hockey and people to distract him from the flicker of _I like Dex_ that sparks in the back of his mind when he sees something that so much as reminds him of the guy, so it’s chill.

Midway through the week he gets the text in the group chat that the washer has been fixed, so he brings his laundry to the Haus, the place mostly empty save for a few guys in the kitchen and living room. He greets them as he passes by, not acknowledging the muffled rock music until he’s halfway down the basement stairs, still focused on not tripping and spilling his clothes everywhere like last time. He nearly stumbles on the last step when he looks up to find Dex doing pull-ups on one of the house’s wooden support beams that runs across the ceiling. He’s got gloves on to avoid splinters and Bitty’s ipod dock floods the basement with The Eagles.

He’s so chill, in fact, that he doesn’t acknowledge the way Dex’s back muscles contract under his t-shirt or the rigid puffs of air he expels as he pushes himself for more pull-ups, more. Nursey completely disregards this and tosses his clothing in the washer. He’s so invested on _not thinking about Dex_ that when Dex shows up beside him he jumps a little.

Dex doesn’t seem to notice, instead looking at the washer rather proudly, “Fixed her a couple hours ago, but call me if she stops working for some reason,” he pulls his phone from the music dock and puts his gloves back with the rest of the stuff in what has become Dex’s Corner of the basement, a counter where he keeps tools and spare parts for the appliances he chronically has to fix. “Mind if I add a shirt to your load?” He’s looking at Nursey now, face red from exercise and sweaty hair sticking to his forehead. As usual, he seems in a rush to shower.

“Don’t see why not,” Nursey shrugs and steps aside to lean against the dryer, knowing very well that he’s being selfish, as he’s definitely going to accidentally forget about said shirt being Dex’s and maybe wear it one day. Accidentally.

Dex tugs off the shirt that he’s wearing, and—

 _Ah_. Fuck.

Nursey should have seen that coming. What other shirt would Dex being talking about? Surely Nursey has committed some unholy sin to receive this type of punishment. There’s no other explanation.

 “Thanks, appreciate it,” Dex replies, balling up the fabric in his hands and tossing it into the machine. He adds the detergent and sets the dial as if Nursey wasn’t capable of doing so. Which might hold some legitimacy, seeing the frozen state he’s in.

“Anytime,” Nursey offers back, but Dex has already jogged up the stairs.

And if it just so happens that Nursey begins to do his laundry more regularly, at the same time of day that coincides with Dex’s pull-up routine, well. You can’t really blame him.

**/d/**

The hardest part about it is knowing first and foremost that he’s Dex’s friend. He can have a stupid crush and maybe zone out sometimes or let his mind linger on the Dex’s touch—the way he silently bumps their shoulders together in warm-ups before skating away, or how softly he’ll nudge Nursey’s side to get his attention—but he owes it to Dex to be a good friend, feelings or not.

He reminds himself of this when they win the next game by the skin of their teeth. It’s a victory, but there’s no celebration. It was a dirty game with blind refs and flying fists and everyone’s frustrated, but Dex is absolutely radiating anger. Nursey distances himself until they’re back on the bus.

He’s already claimed the window seat when Dex boards, who has his hood pulled up and headphones around his neck like he’s ready to isolate himself from the world.

Nursey looks up to him from the seat, “Hey, Dex—“

“ _Chill_.” Dex grunts as he lodges his bag into the overhead compartment, followed stiffly by “Yeah, I know.”

He goes to put on his headphones but Nursey stops him, “Dude, could you, I dunno, not be a dick for a second? I was gonna say nice assist.”

Dex’s features flatten and he manages a nod before listening to music and folding his arms, a slight downward tug to his expression even as he sleeps in the three hours’ drive back. At some point his head lolls onto Nursey’s shoulder, Nursey eager to accept it as a sign that all is well, avoiding the warning in his head that eventually he’ll have to do something about these silly things called feelings.

**/e/**

There’s a mandatory kegger to be had that Friday. The tub juice is killer, the music is loud, and Nursey’s pretty sure the Haus is shaking. He goes up to Lardo’s room and shares a joint, half of their bodies hanging out of her window and expelling smoke into a grey sky. They’re breathing in the calm as Nursey’s phone dings with a text.

**_Dex_ ** _Ur at the haus, right? Just arrived_

Nursey looks at the message and groans out of frustration; Dex had been MIA all day, not going to breakfast or showing any sign that he’d partake in the kegger tonight. But he decided to text Nursey, to make sure Nursey was at there, which must mean something, right? He pulls his body and mind back into the room fully. Lardo does the same, raising a brow, “You guys fighting again?”

“Worse,” Nursey looks out the window to the rest of Frat Row, feeling like he’s admitting it to the world, “I really like him.”

“Obviously.” She’s preoccupied on her phone now, and bless Larissa Duan, but—

“What?”

“He likes you too, ya know.” Lardo states it so matter-of-factly Nursey’s brain refuses to process it, “You, Dex, and Chowder, man. Always coming to me for advice,” her smile verges on sly and caring, “It’s cute.”

“Okay,” Nursey goes with it, because he’s the King of Composure, “but Dex isn’t the type of guy to get involved with another guy?”

“Yeah he’s been freaking out about it. He talked to Shitty about it first, who passed the duty down to me.” So Dex has felt _something_ about Nursey since last year. Which is, yeah, whatever. Totally chill. “My advice,” Lardo continues, “Talk to him. Like _talk_ talk, not whatever teasing bullshit you usually put him through. Got it?”

Nursey doesn’t get distracted when he returns to the first floor. He pushes through the crowd, even passing by the really sweet Delta Chi girl he had befriended last party. He finds Whiskey and shouts over the music, asking if he’s seen Dex, to which Whiskey points to the backdoor.

He slows his steps but his pulse is still ticking. Then he sees Dex, and, shit.

The King of Composure loses his crown.


	3. Chapter 3

**/f/**

Derek Nurse is, in fact, an adult. He goes to class and eats his vegetables and prides himself on being mature, dammit. But then Dex, the fucker, is so nonchalantly _playing the guitar_ , leaning on the porch railing with a group of five or six surrounding him, and Nursey feels like he’s reverted to the sex-driven teenager he once was. Or still is, apparently.

The thing that gets him is that Dex is totally not bad at playing. Like, even actually pretty good. Other people have seemed to pick up on this too, a little congregation of drunk college kids feeling warm with alcohol and swaying to the acoustics. There’s someone throwing up behind the Haus, which kind of ruins the mood, but Nursey soaks it all in.

And Nursey knew he liked musicians but he didn’t know he had a _thing_ for them.

“What _the fuck_ , William?” Nursey steps into the circle, amused and aroused and considering throwing himself off the porch. Too bad it’s only a two foot drop.

Dex abruptly stops playing, the break in music grabbing the attention of everyone around them, "Yes?"

"Need to talk." There's urgency to his voice that he can be embarrassed about later, but right now he's a man driven by a mission.

Dex nods slowly before giving the guitar to the girl next to him and briefly thanking her for letting him borrow it, then turning to Nursey to say, "You could have at least let me finished the song.”

Nursey waves it off and pulls Dex aside by tugging on his arm.

“Is that my shirt?” Dex plants his feet into the ground for a moment and Nursey huffs out of annoyance because he’s just trying to take them somewhere more private and Dex is making things unnecessarily difficult.

“Yes. Now move.” He steers through the first floor of the Haus with Dex at his heels and pushes through Chowder's door, disregarding the paper taped on it reading _Please stay out!_ written in crayon and with a sun drawn in the corner. Chowder only puts it up during keggers ever since the time his San Jose Shark's plushie was stolen. It was fine, he had a backup shark 'Just in case.'

Nursey closes the door behind them and opens his mouth to talk but Dex beats him to it, "So?"

And, well, it seems he hadn't thought this one through. "Since when have you played guitar?" He's stalling, really.

"My mom's a music teacher," Dex raises a brow and looks at him critically, "Are you drunk? Or high?"

"Yes. Does that mean you can sing? Will you sing to me?"

"No. Is this all that you wanted to talk about?" Dex tries to side-step around him but Nursey steps right back in the way.

"Well, no." There's a much more pressing topic to discuss. _Come on, Derek_. The right words don't come to him.

"Okay," Dex looks a bit lost, "You were going to say..?"

"I'm _thinking_."

To which the reply is Dex's flat, "Oh, so we'll be here for a while."

Nursey groans, "Your comments are ruining the mood."

"There's a mood in here?"

Screw it. "This was _supposed_ to be a disruption-free atmosphere so I could confess that _I like you too, Dex_ , but of course you have to fuck it up--"

" _I_ fucked it up? Oh, that's rich, considering--"

A rumble of frustration escapes Nursey's throat, "Can you even hear the words that enter your stupid Dumbo ears? I said that _I like you_ , dick."

"Oh."

"Yeah," Nursey recomposes himself. Dex is doing the opposite. His body has tensed and his features have gone blank and he stands with his arms fallen by his sides.

Time passes. Dex starts to pace around the room, which is a good sign that his brain didn't overload and fizzle. Nursey leans back and crosses his arms, on leg kicked against the door.

More time passes. Nursey's been allowing Dex to sort through whatever mental train wreck he's in, until he gets impatient and just chimes in, "You know, you're going to have to say something because while I am quite talented, I can't read minds."

Dex has messed up his hair with how much he's been tugging at it, before he lets out, "I don't know, okay? I've been trying to avoid this and-- and I don't know."

Nursey approaches him slowly, as one would for a wild animal, "Hey, hey, Dex-- Will. It's cool. I'm not saying that it has to mean anything; just wanted to put it out in the open," he shrugs and tips his head to the bed, inviting Dex to sit with him, "And I get it, dude. You weren't raised in an environment that really accepts anything aside from heteronormativity and church every Sunday. It's fine."

Dex looks almost shameful, head hung and eyes glued to his lap. Nursey takes the chance to breathe, then continues, "If you want to dismiss it, you're going to be denying a part of yourself. But if that's what you want, so be it. Otherwise, if you want someone to guide you through things, I'm here for you, man. And I'm not gonna make you do anything you're not comfortable with or aren’t completely certain about. It's chill." He bumps their shoulders together and hopes that Dex catches his smile.

There's an audible swallow before Dex relaxes a bit, "Okay," he nods and stands up, "Yeah. Just-- give me time."

It’s a start.

**/g/**

_Am I killing time or is it killing me?_

Nursey scribbles out the [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gAviJ-u0sPU) lyric and bangs his head against the desk. A few students briefly glance over before reverting their attention to the lecture.

He should have thrown himself off the porch when he had the chance.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**/h/**

While Nursey's not always the most rational, he's not being irrational. And, no, Lardo, he isn't _being melodramatic_ either, thanks.

It's just that it's been a week and Dex has been avoiding close-proximity interaction like the plague. Sure there's still practice and the two instances they happened to be at the Haus at the same time, but Dex has gone out of his way to make sure it's never just the two of them. So now Chowder walks between them to breakfast, simply happy to be there, and Nursey loves Chowder, he swears, but the boy cannot shut up to save a peaceful morning if his life depended on it.

Maybe he is being melodramatic. Whatever. Sue him.

There is good that has come out of this, he reasons. He's been hanging out more with his-non hockey friends and even bumped into the Delta Chi girl at the library--Alana, bio major--and made plans to help at her sorority's charity gala or whatever. It's not really his thing but dressing nice and meeting new people sounds like a good change of pace.

So Saturday late in the morning he wears his freshly pressed dress shirt and pants and cleans up the edges of his scruff, feeling refreshed. He even leaves his dorm with a spritz of cologne, en route to the Haus.

When he arrives there's shouting from the living room.

"This is bullshit, man!"

"I'm calling fucking cheats-- there's no way."

Nursey hesitantly peeks around the corner to find Ransom, Holster, Tango, and Dex sitting around the coffee table, playing Catan. Ransom looks close to flipping the table over.

Dex, although sitting with his back to Nursey, appears composed as he starts to clean up the cards and pieces. Tango looks like he's trying to process everything.

"Dex beating your asses?" Nursey assumes, laughing lightly and hoping to come off as Not Frustrated About Dex and Totally Chill.

Dex briefly looks to Nursey from where he's sitting cross-legged on the carpet, sparing a nod of acknowledgement, then continues to clean up the table. Tango also looks up at Nursey's presence, Holster's demands for a rematch merely background noise when he asks, "What are you dressed up for? Did I miss a memo?"

Nursey steps his full body into the archway then, one hand in his pocket, other scratching a corner of his mouth, feeling a little constricted in his formal get-up. _Business casual my ass_ , he scorns. _Dex's ass in business casual_ , he adds belatedly, recalling Dex's outfit when they attended Lardo's art show. _Nice_.

"Some sorority event," he shrugs and checks to make sure the time on his wrist matches the one on the wall, giving his mind something to focus on beside the Very Inappropriate Thought That He Will Not Think About. "Was just stopping by to borrow Lardo's car. She left the keys somewhere?"

"Pinned them to the bulletin board," Tango supplies, attention shifted and looking at Dex like he's the God of Catan, a glint of a question in is eye before he begs him, "You have to teach me your strats. _Please_."

Ransom and Holster collectively cheer for a rematch and make haste to set up the board again. Nursey's about to leave but Dex calls out, "Hey, don't forget your seatbelt." It looks like he wants to say more so Nursey stops walking away, but when Dex turns back to the coffee table with _'Alright, guys, pay attention..._ ', he takes it that that's all he'll be getting out of his left-side defenseman today.

When Nursey gets into the car Dex pops into his head. Dex, who hasn't spoken to him directly all week until just now, sitting on the floor wearing his flannel pajama pants and a sweatshirt, drinking coffee out of the matching _Mrs_. cup from the _Mr. &Mrs._ set Nursey had gifted him jokingly for Christmas last year, throwing Nursey for a loop with _don’t forget your seatbelt_. He buckles in bitterly.

It’s Dex who pops in his head and plants himself there even as Nursey picks up Alana and drives downtown to the showroom where the event's taking place.

He tries to forget about Dex and the subsequent frustration that’ll ruin his repertoire _chill_.

Alana assigns Nursey to help set up dining chairs before introducing him to some of her friends. For the most part they talk just the two of them, though, sitting under a draped white table cloth, a miniature tower of appetizer toothpicks constructed with joint effort leaning precariously between them, something resembling a bridge and the Tower of Pisa. It's a good time with some funny conversations and a particularly memorable fondue accident that had Nursey half-heartily wiping cheese off of a lacrosse player's shirt.

When he drops Alana off he keeps the goodbye vague, no 'until next time', or 'see you around', just a thank you for the distraction and good company, although the last two go unsaid.

He swings buy the _Stop &Shop_ before returning to the Haus, buying a cheap tea he holds onto with both hands, car parked and radio making up for the lack of noise. It's a little moment of isolation he appreciates, even tipping his head back and closing his eyes.

Naturally, his mind wanders to Dex. To the little moments Dex indulges in serenity; the sunrise, a quiet library, when everyone's asleep on the bus. And, _tame_ , Nursey thinks, _Dex is tame in those moments_.

Before college Nursey hadn't really known tame. Throughout high school he avoided any serious trouble, but his parents were out of the house most weekends and he had a large group of friends to help him trash it every Friday. He was well-liked and built up a reputation he was quite proud of at the time, and always had A Thing with some person or another, experimenting until he found what felt right. There weren't many restrictions and he took life by the reins.

Then he imagines Dex in high school, in a town that's the epicenter of white-bred, sharing a bedroom with a younger sibling in a house with too many people for such a shortage of rooms. He's seen one picture in Dex's wallet, one he snuck a good look of when the team was chipping in for pizza night. It's a photo of Easter Sunday maybe when he was eight or nine, in a hand-me-down suit with padded shoulders, a small kid with big ears and holding hands with a toddler--more orange hair, more freckles--standing as straight as cadet while his younger siblings squirm beside him. His mom's in the picture too, stooped down as she says something into one of her toddler's ears, willing them to behave, maybe, a baby on her hip. Nursey can't recall if he saw his mom's face or if it was obstructed by even more orange wisps.

So Dex has really never known tame, not while growing up like that. And Nursey thinks he understands it better, how all Dex has known is chaos and the responsibility of protecting his loved ones and how he probably didn't have much of a childhood. When Dex was sixteen he had been working after school in his neighbor's hardware store to contribute funds to his family; when Nursey was sixteen he was screwing around with Chloe Cortman and playing Xbox religiously.

The thing is, it's all speculation. Just stories that Nursey fabricates to align with what he wants Dex to be. He can have facts laid out in front of him, but they're pointless without someone to explain them. He needs to sit down and talk with Dex but his patience is wearing thin.

So what if Nursey plugs in his adolescent angst playlist, music the perfect amount of loud where he can't think. All that matters is that when he returns to the Haus everyone is there for dinner, the sounds of general discussion filling the room as he steps in, hanging up Lardo's keys as he does so. People's plates are empty save for a few slow eaters (slow in hockey player terms, that is), but are staying seated with the draw of conversation. It's what has become of Saturday nights, a homely atmosphere that reminds him to call his parents later and plan for Thanksgiving.

He grabs a plate and scoops up some remnants of chicken and rice, topping off the pile with broccoli until his food resembles something like a miniature mountain. There's a seat open between Holster and Whiskey, but he opts to lean against the counter and just watch. Bitty's beside him, washing the pots and a casserole tray. Nursey would offer to help, but Bitty has some policies in place of things that people other than himself can and can't wash ("Stop scrubbing so hard-- You'll wear off all the teflon! No, gentler. _Gentler_. You know what, just hand it over.")

"How was it? You look charming, by the way," Bitty chirrs, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. He blows away a tiny blob of soap foam that began to waft upwards.

Nursey's mouth is full when he offers " ‘Hanks," proceeding to swallow, then, "Pretty fun. Met some peeps, spilled some fondue, the youzhe."

"Fondue?"

So he explains. He really gets into the story, Bitty sometimes providing a _dear me_ or clucking his tongue is disapproval when Nursey gets to the part about the lax bro's utter inability to take a joke. "...so we bolted before people realized that _I_ knocked it over. When we got back in the car we laughed for five minutes straight. Bits, you should have seen the guy's face."

Bitty nods and smiles enthusiastically, "Your date seems like a peach."

"Alana? She's cool. Nice to change things up. She seems kinda into me," Nursey sets his plate in the sink, "I dunno. Hey, can I pick the movie for tonight? Chowder skipped over my turn last time."

It's not that Bitty orchestrates team movie night, but despite the spread sheet Ransom made of who gets to choose according to a rotating schedule, Bitty's often the one to manage disputes that arise.

(What movie night typically is:

Rans: "Bro. _I told you_ I was gonna pick Charlie's Angels next week"

Hols: "But I want to watch it now"

Rans:"But now I don't know what to pick next week!"

Bits: " _Gentlemen, please_. We'll watch the first movie tonight and the sequel next time"

Rans&Hols, looking at Bitty with stars in their eyes: "Brilliant, man."

Shitty, very loudly and in the distance: *unintelligible ramble of the femme fatale archetype in modern film*)

"No problem," Bitty peels off the dish gloves, fingers turned pruney underneath. He wipes his hands on his pants as he leads Nursey to the living room, explaining that, "I think Dex is just about done fixing the speakers?"

His mood plummets. Nursey casually wonders if the world is out to get him. Or is it bad karma? Does he believe in karma?

Sure enough Dex is squatting next to the speakers, putting away pliers among other tools, "They're set to go. Next party we should tape down the cords, though. Someone probably tripped and pulled the wire out of the socket." When he sees Nursey he tenses up.

Bitty, in his oblivious state, thanks Dex and retreats to the kitchen, calling out to everyone else for help cleaning up.

The room feels very big and the space between them very small but Nursey stays on steady feet. His mind wanders to stupid poetry he wrote about the color orange and sunrises and he feels played, really. Like he’s been screwed with.

"What movie are you thinking?"

He's reminded that he doesn't know where he stands with Dex. Last year it had been constant arguing and prodding to get into Dex’s head. Now it's Nursey being met with silence and tense civility and he's _tired_. Tired from a long day and tired of Dex being the center of his thoughts and tired of wasting his time on a boy who won’t spare him so much as an explanation.

Nursey moves to riffle through the movie bin at the foot of the couch. It’s a cardboard box with the finest selection of Walmart’s five dollar DVD’s. "Don't know."

He's written about Dex.

He wrote about how somewhere lodged in his throat is the desire to spit out his frustrations until his mouth is dry and his words are raw. In his ears there's ringing to _move on, let it be_ that sing like a chorus of testament. About how around his ankles are the ball and chain of fatigue that slow him down until he drags his feet.

And how most obtrusive of them all is the berating beat of his heart.

His professor told him it was beautiful but he hadn't felt very proud.

"Nurse, you okay? Kind of zoned out there." Dex is hovering behind Nursey, who's standing with a film in either hand but staring blankly at the wall.

Nursey nearly feels like scoffing; he doesn't. Instead he schools his features, blinks once, very heavily, and looks Dex in the eye, "I wasn't aware that we're speaking now. After a week of silence you’ve just-- randomly decided?”

"Derek—"

“No. This effects me just as much as it does you. I’m not here for your mind games or whim. I tried to understand where you're coming from but you give me nothing to work with. And you better damn believe I'm not waiting around any longer."

“I—“

Nursey cuts him off by shaking his head, words deflated, "Save it," he lets go of the DVD's, letting them fall into the bin with small clatter that hangs in the air, "tell Chowder it's his pick tonight."

The rest of the team enters the living room only catching the tail end of their conversations.

"You're not picking?" Tango asks from the front of the herd.

Nursey digs his hands into his pockets, "Was just on my way out."

So he leaves and Dex is left to answer the questioning looks of his teammates, having nothing more to offer than unsaid apology.


	5. Chapter 5

**/i/**

Nursey spends his Sunday by the Pond, leaning his back against the trunk of a tree and sitting on a cushion of leaves. The geese are respectful and only really pester him when he eats lunch, but for the most part he’s left alone. He finishes his homework save for a few economics questions he’ll get from Chowder later, spending the rest of his time making playlists on his phone or downloading games that hold his attention for a little while until he gets bored and ultimately deletes them. It’s relaxing and he feels accomplished packing up all his finished work, only now going back to his dorm because both his laptop and phone died a while ago and he’s spent nearly two hours simply watching the clouds drift with his thoughts.

On the walk to his dorm he plans out that he’ll smoke a little, maybe catch up on _House of Cards_ , and eventually swing by the Commons for dinner. It’s the perfect plan, in fact.

But it doesn’t happen.

The first words he’s spoken all day are “Are you shitting me” when he jiggles his door open, finding none other than William J. Poindexter sitting in one of his bean bags, “How the hell did you get in here?”

Dex looks up from the Sudoku book he’s nabbed off of Nursey’s desk and has probably nearly finished, sticking the pencil behind his ear and offering a hesitant explanation, “I wanted to talk but you weren’t answering your texts so I stopped by a few times until your roommate got annoyed and just let me in?”

Nursey flings his backpack on his bed before flopping into the adjacent beanbag, muttering “fuckin’ Brad” under his breath. Brad’s a cool guy except for the couple times he’s done something uncool. Like this.

There’s a beat of silence before, “You can kick me out, if you want.”

Nursey ponders it, stretching out his legs, elbows in the air as he rests the back of his head in his hands, “You came here to talk, so talk.”

Dex nods, more like confirmation to himself, “Yeah, okay. Guess I wanted to start by saying I’m sorry—“

“You _guess_? Come on, Dex, you’re going to have to do better than that.”

“—do you really have to be difficult right now?”

“I’m waiting”

“Fuck off,” Dex stands up and paces on the other side of the room (or: fifteen feet away; the dorm is tiny), “ _I’m sorry_. I messed up, alright?”

“Mhm. Keep talking.”

Dex looks at Nursey like it’s taking every ounce of his strength to not flip the fuck out. Nursey feels absolutely giddy.

Dex soldiers on, “Look, I haven’t been thinking straight—“

“Literally.” Nursey knows that he’s provoking Dex, which, granted, isn’t very hard to do, but it’s familiar and easy and _them_. 

“—could you stop interrupting me? Do you think you could manage that this one time?”

“But seriously, what are you?” Nursey sits with piqued interest, one brow raised and waiting for Dex’s reply.

“I— don’t know. I’ve tried not to think about it,” his voice dips with his shoulders, “In high school I was in a pretty serious relationship with this girl and it was fun, but—I don’t know. Recently I’ve kind of been thrown for a loop.” _You kind of threw me for a loop_.

Nursey nods along but when Dex doesn’t continue he adds in, “And that’s why you chose Samwell. Because back home wasn’t weren’t welcoming to anything _but_ normal and you were raised in a town of—“

“Being raised by Republicans has nothing to do with anything, Nurse,” Dex looks up from furrowed brows, tone firm, “On the day same-sex marriage was nationalized my mom and dad sat me and my siblings down and said that they’re going to love us no matter what because _we’re family_. Don’t act like there’s Democrats who are fine with same-sex in theory but not when a family member actually comes out. Tell me if you’ve never heard of that before.”

Nursey blinks. It’s just, it was such a _thing_ last year, disliking Dex because he was Republican and uncomfortable with Bitty being Bitty and he teetered on homophobic. He’s grown a lot since orientation when Nursey first heard Dex’s ‘ _I thought since Jack Zimmermann played here, guys would be… less good at baking. If you know what I mean_ ’. That was at orientation and Dex signed up for Samwell anyways but a part of Nursey has always held onto it like Dex wasn’t capable of change.

“I made assumptions and that wasn’t cool of me. Sorry,” Nursey slowly stands, words matching the rate of his movements, “But you’ve given me nothing to work with here. I’ve had to keep speculating why you were ignoring me after I had been so open. I get that it’s all new to you but you have to help me out a little.”

“I don’t want to mess things up. We fight enough as friends, I don’t know what—what _this_ ,” Dex waves his hands around to motion between them, “would do to us.”

“Dude, _it’s chill_. Besides, angry sex is like, definitely top three on my list of favorite—“

Dex iterrupts by turning pink and sputtering a string of words that don’t really make sense. Nursey takes it as an opportunity to close the gap between them.

“By the way,” he bets he could feel Dex’s breath with how close they are, that is, if Dex were breathing. Nursey snatches the pencil tucked behind Dex’s ear before turning back to his desk to gingerly charge his laptop and phone, as if he wasn’t just millimeters away from Dex’s face, “I forgive you.”

Dex’s cheeks are nearly as bright as his red flannel.

And, yeah, it’s a good start.

**/j/**

It’s Wednesday, and also the last day of classes before Thanksgiving break. Nursey had turned in the last of his assignments and, ignoring the packing he hasn’t even started, heads to Dex’s room—a single dorm that’s the epitome of pristine. He’s always been a neat freak.

It was a nice change, receiving the ‘ _U can come ovr if u want-- after class. no skipping’_ text, because A) Dex is taking initiative to hang out, which, woohoo, progress. And B) Nursey’s been to Dex’s room maybe four times, one of which he can’t even remember because he was schwasted and Dex’s room is closer to the Haus than Nursey’s, so. In fact, it would be a lot more convenient to hang out here because it’s equidistant from Chowder and Nursey, but apparently Nursey has a problem with _personal property_ and _cleaning up after himself_. It’s not like he decided to throw up on the floor, which is linoleum and very easy to clean, by the way. So the amount of times he’s actually stepped foot into Dex’s room is few and far between.

He walks up to the third floor, where he heads for Dex’s suite. His suite mates all have some sort of decoration on their doors—a Bob Marley poster, half-assed paper batman symbols with names sloppily written on them, a stolen street sign—but then there’s Dex’s door, the one that stands out the most because of how bare it is. There’s a sticker that reads _Will_ smack in the middle that Nursey’s pretty certain is made from _an actual label maker_. He can feel a smirk blooming when he knocks.

Dex answers the door with a laundry basket under one arm and his phone wedged between his shoulder and his ear. He offers a brief smile before continuing, “—no, no, Mom. Mom. _Mom_. It’s fine, I’ll share with Peter. Or Ian. No, Mom, Ciara’s too old to share a bed with her _older brother_. Mom.”

Nursey listens in amusement and plops himself onto Dex’s bed. Despite being preoccupied with cleaning and talking to his mother, Dex signals at Nursey to take his shoes off.

Nursey mouths ‘ _ha’_ before crossing his ankles. He relaxes further into the bed. It’s comfy and clean and smells like Dex’s detergent.

 _‘Off’,_ Dex points at the row of shoes by the door, then returning to his conversation, “I can stay at Aunt Terry’s. Or the Goodwin’s. Oh. Okay, that’s fine. What about Mr.Charlie?”

Nursey’s amusement morphs into curiosity as Dex progresses into a deeper state of distraught, appearing more stressed than he’s been in a while. Which is saying a lot, because Dex isn’t a very chill person; if it weren’t for the _W.J.P._ carved into Dex’s toolbox, Nursey would bet money that Dex’s full name was ‘William TenseStressedAndNoFun Poindexter’. Honestly.

He spares Dex this one time by kicking off his boots, still lying on his back, shoes flying everywhere but the door, and  catching Dex’s last “Yeah, okay, just call me if you figure something out,” before he hangs up and rubs his hand over his face, groaning.

And while Nursey’s not one to pry, he’s trying to make Dex more accustomed to this thing called _communication_ , and he’s always been one to take an opportunity if he sees one, so, “What was that about?”

“Just— _ugh,_ ” Dex groans as Nursey coaxes him to sit on the foot of the bed, patting the space like one would beckon for their pet. It’s a friendly gesture, Nursey reassures himself, because as much as he’d like to rest his head on Dex’s shoulder and do other things to defile the terms of _Dex’s personal space_ , Dex isn’t a very affectionate person to begin. Between them is enough space for the big question mark of what exactly Dex and Nursey are. “My grandma hurt her hip so now she’s staying with us for Thanksgiving but that means now I don’t have anywhere to stay, so I’ll probably be sleeping on the floor for the next week.”

Nursey speaks as the end of the bed dips down, “What about your room?”

“Before I moved out I shared it with my younger brother, but now he’s sharing it with my other younger brother. And our extended family is traveling so I can’t stay with them, and our neighbors are either out of town or are hosting for their family, so.”

Nursey nods and is only half-joking when he offers, “You know, you could always come to Manhattan for Thanksgiving.” He doesn’t mention that he has a king-sized bed and very soundproof walls. He’ll let Dex find that out some other time.

“Being around _you_ would kind of defeat the purpose of having a break.” Dex looks awfully proud of his mediocre comeback.

“I’m just sayin’, you too could be dragged around to my parent’s work galas and lame exhibition openings. Oh, and you’ll be introduced to plenty of businessmen’s daughters because now’s always the time for planning for the future or whatever. Super lame.”

He rests his feet on Dex’s lap, surprised that they’re not immediately shoved off. Instead he receives a tiny look of disbelief and, “Do you really?”

“Chyeah. Ever since I was _nine_. It’s whack.”

“My mom would introduce me to girls at church,” Dex admits in a tone that’s something between embarrassed and fond, “expect I was too weird looking—red hair, freckles, super skinny, etcetera. Well, and I also wasn’t very interested in girls to begin with.”

Nursey considers bringing up the picture in Dex’s wallet but doesn’t, opting to hum along and nudge Dex’s stomach with his toe before saying, “I bet it’s gonna be a lot different now, though.”

Dex’s eyebrows are scrunched and he stops fiddling with the loose stand on one of Nursey’s socks. “What do you mean?”

“Seriously? Will, you’re _huge_ now. Just— flex.”

“I’m not flexing.”

“Do it.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because no.”

“Fine,” Nursey sticks his chin up in the air, looking for the pink on Dex’s cheeks after he says, “but have the records show that I think you’re pretty too.”

“Too?”

“Last year you told Bits that you were _sick of private school pretty boys_ ,” Nursey continues, ignoring Dex’s sputtered protests, “And if it’s any consolation, I think you’re pretty too.”

Dex mutters “I have laundry to finish,” his face a marvelous shade of red. He starts to fold and organize his clothing as Nursey croons _You Don’t Know You’re Beautiful_. He only stops signing when Dex throws a dirty pair of briefs at him. They’re dark blue and Nursey absolutely does not let himself imagine Dex wearing them.

“You don’t take compliments very well,” Nursey quips, tacking onto the end, “hot stuff.”

Dex is still flustered in his state of dignity, delayed when he responds, “ _Derek_. Stop.”

Nursey sits up to fully see Dex, sitting on the floor with a circle of clothing piles surrounding him. A half-packed suitcase is beside him. “Killjoy. Anyways, I should start packing too. My flight’s really early tomorrow morning.”

Dex regains some semblance of normality, “You’re flying? You live one state away.”

“Going to Lisbon to visit some family friends first,” Nursey explains as he shrugs on his backpack and slips into his shoes, taking quick notice of the Maine map Dex has tacked on his wall.

“Oh. That’s a pretty long flight.”

Nursey coos, “Are you gonna miss me, Poindexter?”

“No.”

“You’re always free to Skype me.”

Dex looks beyond unimpressed. “You should start packing.”

“Not even a ‘goodbye’ kiss? Just a lil’ smooch?”

“Leave, Derek.”

**/k/**

**_[4:52 a.m.] Dex_ ** _have a safe flight_

 **_[4:52 a.m.] Nursey_ ** _not even a kissy emoji? :(_

 **_[4:53 a.m.] Dex_ ** _go to hell._


	6. Chapter 6

**/l/**

“Hellooo Poindexter!”

“It’s one in the morning.”

“Hey,” Nursey shrugs and squints, trying to make out the fuzzy details on the screen. Dex is in the dark, a bluish glow from the TV, rubbing at his eyes, “You’re the one that picked up. Hold up-- Isn’t your grandma sleeping on the couch?”

Dex swivels his laptop ninety degrees to show a snoozing grandma on the other end of the couch, quilt draped over her. She’s a loud snorer.

Dex shuffles around before he’s carrying his laptop through the house and into the kitchen, where he sets it on the table and flicks a light on. “I couldn’t sleep on the floor so I moved to the couch to watch TV. Why are you up?”

 “Just got home from Lisbon but I‘m not very tired. Saw carrots in the fridge and remembered to Skype you.” The connection is a little laggy but he doesn’t miss Dex’s eye roll.

“Don’t you have friends in Manhattan to annoy?”

“I have friends in Maine to annoy too.”

“Yeah, thanks for that,” Dex props his elbows on the table and rests his chin in his hands, cheeks slighty squishing upward. He takes up most of the screen but Nursey makes out a coatrack in the background, draped with winter jackets. On the other side of Dex there’s the edge of a kitchen counter. Between them is the low quality buzz of empty sound until Dex’s quiet, “I’m actually kind of glad you called; I don’t know how much longer I can last here.”

Nursey nods along, “Kind of weird being back, right?”

“Yeah. A lot has changed. I keep forgetting that Ciara’s thirteen—she’s wearing makeup and hanging out with boys now.” Dex looks displeased and it’s a look Nursey’s all too familiar with receiving from him.

He hums along, “I take it that you’re a little protective of her?”

“I’m her big brother, it’s my job.”

Nursey smiles as his heart fills with sap, chest a little fuzzy, “What about your brothers—Peter and, uh—“

“Ian. They’re getting big; we were wrestling and I actually got a little beat up.” His voice is nothing but fond, love he’s presenting so openly to no one else but Nursey. It fills Nursey with pride, how he’s beginning to see this Dex more, the boy on the other end of the screen with sleep-ruffled hair, freckles nearly erased with the poor lighting, but giving everything his best.

“You’re getting all emotional on me, D. You’re not gonna cry, are you?”

“Shuddup,” Dex rubs some restlessness out of his eye with the back of his hand, blinking hazily afterward, “I think Mom nearly cried when she saw me. _Oh Billy you’re so big now! What have they been feeding you?_ Seriously. I’ve only been gone three months.”

A warmth spreads over Nursey— a warmth of light orange sunlight, imagining a mother and son’s embrace, a small house brimming with commotion, little hands tugging at Dex for attention.

“See? I wasn’t joking when I said that you’ve become a chiseled god.” If Nursey says it to fluster Dex, he can’t be blamed.

“Anyways—“

“No. I’m trying to compliment you, fucker. Let me flirt.”

Dex’s shoulders slump as he shifts his weight, head leaning on his hand, elbow on the table. “You’re horrible.”

“Right, because your version of flirting is ignoring someone for a week straight.”

“You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Afraid not, _Billy_.”

“I hate you.”

“Mhm,” Nursey’s smile softens into something more relaxed, “What’ve you been up to?”

Dex closes his eyes as he thinks, looking like he could fall asleep right then and there. “We went to watch Ian’s basketball game today and ran into my old girlfriend.”

Nursey nearly winces out of sympathy, “Oh.”

“No, no—it wasn’t bad or anything. Just made me think about stuff I guess,” Dex’s eye’s flicker directly into the camera for a brief moment, his lips in a thin line of contemplation, “But I guess Mom interpreted it as me being distraught so she thought that asking if I met anyone at Samwell would take my mind off of it? And once she started asking then my whole family started pestering me about it.”

“It _is_ very fun to pester you,” Nursey chimes in, slinking further into his sheets. He thinks of his large bed and quiet house and compares himself to Dex, who’s sleeping on the floor in a small home with family members around each corner. So he sinks into bed as the guilt sinks into his gut, “but anyways, go on.”

Dex pulls his brows together and looks down, a certain set to his jaw, “I got really fed up with them by dinner and just wanted it to stop.”

Nursey holds his breath. “So what’d you do?”

“Nothing.” His voice is tired and defeated and Nursey wishes they weren’t states away, “I couldn’t do anything. What could I have said—that the only girls I’ve been with was last year’s winter screw date and the soccer player from that one party? Because I’m not really _into_ it? That I’m--” Dex closes his mouth, paused like he’s listening to make sure he’s the only one awake. When he’s met with nothing but the murmur of the TV he finishes, “—that I’m not into girls.”

“I’m sorry,” Nursey looks at Dex, who’s stuck in a state of tension and anger and frustration without being able to accept himself. When Nursey continues his eyes and mind feel heavy, “Do you think you’ll tell them?”

Dex sighs and runs a hand through his hair, “I have some stuff to figure out first. How’s New York?”

Nursey takes in the subject change, pushing the memory of an unsure and freaked out twelve year old Derek when he had his first crush on a boy. A long yawn mixes into his words, “It’s nice. I’m hosting a kick-back for a few of my friends tomorrow. Just some drinks and music, but it’ll be fun I think.”

“And your parents are okay with it?” Dex is winding down alongside the conversation, words mushing together and eyes blinking slowly. Nursey’s started to feel drowsy himself.

“Chyeah. Well, they’re not actually coming back for another two days since they stopped in Boston. But if they were here they wouldn’t mind.”

“I’ve only ever been home alone the time when I was sick and had to miss church on Palm Sunday and the time I missed school because I got my wisdom teeth out.”

Nursey raises a brow, turning on his side and waiting for sleep to hit him, “Forreal?”

“Yeah?”

“No wonder you’re so up-tight, you never had privacy to whack the weeds.”

“What?”

“I’m talking about jerkin’ off, man. It’s the best method of stress relief.” His eyes are closed, only half-blinking them open to see Dex’s reaction of:

“The fuck, Derek?! My grandma’s like ten feet away!” Dex is visibly mashing the volume down key on the keyboard, flustered and alarmed and more awake than before.

Nursey snorts against his pillow, “Just saying. It’s probably clinically proven. You can test it out, tell me how it goes. I can help conduct the experiment, if you want. There’ll be plenty of repeated trials; make this thing legit.”

“I’m gonna end the call.”

“—but you have done stuff before, right? As your—“ Nursey stops himself, lets the word slip to the back of his throat and replaces it with, “ _friend_ I should know what you’ve done and what you’re comfortable with.” It sits weird with him, not knowing what they consider one another. Whatever they have going on will be private, just closed doors and quiet conversations. He accepts it. He just hopes Dex can learn to accept things too.

“I’m not talking about this. There’s a portrait of Jesus watching me right now.” Dex looks off to the wall facing him, presumably staring back at the painting.

“Isn’t he supposed to be a, like, cool and forgiving guy?”

“I wouldn’t call him _cool_ , but…”

“Answer the question, Poindexter.”

Dex releases a frustrated grunt, then a rigid, “I’m not a saint. Goodnight.”

Nursey blows the screen a kiss that he hopes Dex saw before hanging up the call, screen shining the white of Skype’s chat room so brightly Nursey recoils from the light, shutting his laptop before his eyes hurt any further. He pushes it onto his bedside table rolls onto his other side, his last thoughts of his house being too empty and the other side of his bed too cold.

**/m/**

“If you were Bilbo would you travel to Mordor? It seems kind of dangerous. They’re not even wearing shoes.”

Currently they’re on the bus heading west to Michigan, their first away game since the break. Nursey’s more than halfway through _The Lord of the Rings_ trilogy.

Dex looks up from his book, peering at Nursey through the corner of his eye. They’ve each got in one earbud but Dex lost interest halfway through _The Fellowship of the Ring_.

“I think I would,” Nursey continues, training his focus back on the screen to see Legolas wield duel sabers in battle, “I mean, what else was there to do? Farm potatoes?”

Dex snorts humorlessly, returning to his book.

“Aaaand,” Nursey pokes Dex’s side, “Orlando Bloom would make it so worth while. Look at him.”

Dex stubbornly peels his attention away from whatever he's reading and glances at the screen, “I don’t see it.”

“ _His eyes_.”

“—are actually brown. He’s wearing blue contacts,” Dex furrows his brows and stares intently at the screen, “and he’s an elf. He has girl hair.”

“You’re kidding, right? It’s the most beautiful flow I’ve seen.”

Dex goes back to his book and flips the page, “Whatever.”

“Don’t be jealous, babe,” Nursey slings his arm around Dex, who’s doing everything in his power to ignore him. Nursey moves closer, straining his neck so that he can speak lowly right into Dex’s ear, “Actually, you’re pretty cute when you’re jealous.” Dex’s skin prickles and the tips of his ears tinge pink with his cheeks. Nursey’s chin is slightly rested on Dex’s shoulder, mouth hovering near his neck. He can smell Dex’s shampoo.

Dex squirms with Nursey being so close, pushing him away with one hand, book in the other, “Personal space, Nurse.”

Nursey rests his hand on Dex’s thigh, “Personal space? Never heard of it.”

Dex shuts his book closed before whacking it against Nursey’s hand, “I’m serious,” his voice is hushed and stern, eyes dead-set, “You can’t mess with me like this in public.”

Nursey frowns at his hand and rubs away the pain in his knuckles, “Dude. We’re just bros on the bus. Look at Rans and Holster.” Dex follows Nursey gaze to the pair sitting across the aisle from them, both hugging the one pillow shared between them as they sleep.  There’s a pool of drool near Holster’s mouth.

Nursey has to strain his ears to hear it, but his demeanor changes after Dex’s “It’s different for us though. You know that, Nurse.”

“Party pooper.” Nursey unfurls his arm from around Dex and scootches away so it’s just him in his seat, no part of his body remotely close to any of Dex, “I wanna talk later though, alright?”

Dex nods once, returning to his book, not uttering another word for the remaining three hours of the drive. He periodically flips to the next page, scanning over words and occasionally circling a passage or two, pencil tucked behind one ear. Nursey tries to ignore him in his peripheral vision, the crinkle the pages make and the concentration Dex exerts. It’s not concentration on the book, Nursey senses, but rather Dex concentrating on ignoring him.

Nursey may be only a step away from going crazy; it's like Dex is so close but at the same time so off limits. He'll go along with the game, but he never plays fair.

**/n/**

People are trickling into the arena and the team’s only walking into the locker room. There’s still a nice block of time between now and warm-ups, the guys throwing down their gear and suiting up. Bitty’s blasting pump-up music from his portable speakers, most of the team shouting lyrics as they dress. Nursey’s multitasking between applying deodorant and using the deodorant as a mock microphone. Hall and Murray are off in the corner with clipboards, Lardo somewhere checking the equipment.

Beside Nursey are Chowder and Dex, tying up their skates while talking to one another.

“It’s all about the technique, for sure. Once we get back I can see your stokes and give you some advice. It’s not about the number of laps but how you do them.”

Nursey’s halfway through putting on his compression shirt when he butts in, “You guys talking about swimming?”

“Yeah,” Chowder beams— but when doesn’t he beam? “Dex’s gonna help me since he’s a really good swimmer.”

Nursey moves his eyes to Dex, brow raised, “You swim?”

“Used to, until the season conflicted with hockey,” Dex shrugs and moves on to his other skate, “The speedos were annoying anyways.”

Nursey briefly wonders if Dex is trying to kill him. He also wonders if photos of said speedos exist. But Dex would probably be a kid in the photos and that'd be  _weird_.

He waits until they’re on the ice for warm-ups, standing beside Dex as they wait off by the side until they rotate into the drill.

He knocks his stick against Dex’s calf to grab his attention, “So speedos, huh?”

“Could you focus on the drill? We’re about to go in.”

“You should model for me some time. And afterward we can start the experiment we discussed.”

Dex shoots daggers at him from under his visor. As Ransom and Holster finish, Nursey smacks Dex’s butt and skates to his side. Dex’s annoyance intensifies and he aggressively handles the puck, sending it flying towards Nursey. Bitty’s in the middle, looking concerned with eyes flicking between them. Nursey just winks and continues the drill.

It’s as they’re on the bench listening to Murray’s lineup when Dex leans over, their gear bumping together, as he says in a hush, “The butt slap really isn’t necessary.”

“Dude, it’s winning tradition.”

“You’ve done it three times.”

“And we won our last two games! It seems to me like it’s working.”

“That doesn’t make it tradition.”

Murray stops calling out players and positions to admonish the two of them for talking. Dex replies with “Yes sir” before whacking Nursey up the back of his head like it’s his fault they were just chewed out when he was actually the one who started it, thanks.

Murray finishes and the team stands to line up on the ice for the playing of the anthem. As they push onto the ice Nursey slaps Dex’s butt again.

“Seriously, Derek!? What was that one for!?”

Nursey smirks and joins glides into line, number order, “Just making up for lost time.”


	7. Chapter 7

**/o/**

The game ends with another win in the books, followed by celebration with a team dinner; nothing that compared to _Jerry’s_ , but food none the less. It’s late when they get back to the hotel, only sound in the lobby that of twenty college athletes dragging their feet to bed, unenthusiastic for the reality that they’ll have to wake up before sunrise and hit the road the next morning.

Nursey tries to steady his hand as he swipes the keycard for their room. He’s not tired but he’s more than ready to put an end to the day, curl up in his sheets and pop in his ear buds, drowning himself in music.

He’s unsuccessful in unlocking the door, Dex taking the keycard from him. He swiftly opens it, but stands blocking the entrance before Nursey can move, “Sure you don’t want to ice your shoulder? Hall said—“

“I’m fine,” Nursey side-steps around Dex and into the hotel room. Two white beds stand with headboards pushed against the right wall, a TV opposite of them. An abstract picture is framed and hanging over the table squeezed in the corner of the room, typical coffee maker and travel pamphlets arranged on top. The bathroom’s small but functional. Already there’s a mess of Nursey’s belongings strewn around his side of the room. “Nothing I can’t sleep off— you really didn’t have to ram into the guy after I was pulled out. I can handle myself just fine.”

Dex moves to take Nursey’s sports duffel from him, “You’re sure?”

“For the bajillionth time, Dex: I’m great! Never been better!” Nursey flaps his arm in a circle, voice raised in a burst of frustration, “Seeing as how I’m the one that got hurt you’d think that I know what I’m talking about!”

Dex blinks once, registering Nursey’s outbreak. From it he concludes, “So it does hurt?”

“Dude, fuck. Not the point I was trying to get across.”

“Okay,” Dex’s brows are knit as he speaks with trepidation, “then what’s up?”

His frustration wasn’t rash; it resulted in a build-up of emotion from a long day, Dex pushing him past the point of being able to keep it all internalized. Dex, who had denied Nursey of contact on the bus, who was seemingly pissed off at Nursey for his typical pre-game shenanigans, then who had proceeded to tiptoe around him all night like Nursey’s an injured fawn, not an athlete who was hit with a minor blow to his body. Honestly, he’s hurt himself more by tripping over his own two feet.

Nursey deflates and rubs his hand over his face. Dex’s hand still grips the strap of his bag.

“I’m frustrated, Dex. Frustrated that Murray pulled me out for some stupid injury, and frustrated at you for being so—so—“

“So what?”

“Frustrating! One moment you won’t go near me and the next you’re overly-concerned for my well-being! And it’s frustrating because I’d really like to kiss you but it feels like I’m playing a losing game!”

Dex stops trying to free the duffel from Nursey’s side. “So do it. Kiss me.” He suggests it so simply, like he’s being rational.

Nursey’s eyes scan over Dex’s serious countenance. When he responds his tone is bitter, waiting for the joke to slap him in the face, “Really.”

“Do you think that I like having to hide a part of myself—part of me that I’m still unsure of? Yeah, I just _love_ the guilt from holding back your happiness with my uncertainty. Fuck, Nurse, do you think that I find pleasure in this?”

Nursey gulps and remains silent, dropping his eyes to break their contact.

Dex repeats himself, voice small even in the empty atmosphere, “Do you?”

He knows he doesn’t. He knows Dex distances himself when he’s unsure. He knows that Dex isn’t used to the concept of being with another man. He knows Dex. Nursey knows Dex likes him and is willing to go through _this_ with him, the process of acceptance.

“I know, Dex.” Nursey peels his eyes off of the floor, “Sorry.” He’s not sure exactly what he’s apologizing for, but it’s for a lot of things.

Dex’s grip remains on the strap, hand near Nursey’s heart. There’s an uncertain air to his voice, “Good.”

Nursey breathes out “Yeah,” mind easing, thoughts settling. “And if your offer still stands—“

Dex scoffs, showing the beginning of a smile form, “Is that what you call finesse?”

Nursey’s hands have made their way to rest lightly above the waistband of Dex’s jeans, just something to keep them grounded, moving closer, “You don’t need finesse when you’re _winning_.”

“ _I_ won. _You_ sat on the bench.”

Nursey hushes him and leans forward. It starts as a ghost of a kiss, lips briefly grazing as their noses bump, the fan of each other’s breath slow and warm. Nursey’s holding back, not wanting to come on too strong, keeping his eyes closed with wavering hesitation.

Then Dex presses harder, more firm with his jaw, lips parted in an invitation. Hesitation dissipates, adrenaline mixes with affection, and Nursey wonders if he’s shaking. He’s freely given control to Dex, whose movements are loose but intentional like he’s a craftsman of the trade, and Nursey never pegged Dex as a good kisser.

When they part they hover for a moment, eyes lidded and expressions lax. Nursey’s frame of focus filled with freckles. His hand twitches on Dex’s hip.

Dex is smug, like he’s somehow just ousted Nursey, eyebrows arranged as to ask _that’s all you got?_ But instead he flicks his attention to Nursey’s shoulder, unable to wipe the self-satisfaction from his tone, “You sure you’re alright?”

“Never been better.”

**/p/**

Nursey’s near-death experience count is only at two tonight, so he’s doing pretty well.

It’s Saturday; the glorious day of the week where there’s virtually no responsibility. Friday’s a race, Sunday a waiting game, Saturday the blissful time in between.

He texts his musings to Shitty, following a slew of other thoughts he had composed while high. Shitty responds with equally mind-opening revelations which he’ll have to revisit when he’s perhaps more able-minded.

Walking to the bathroom is much harder than he anticipated. Sure, it’s no Epikegster, but there’s an unbalanced ratio of people to square feet of the Haus. If Nursey’s math is correct, six people in one bathroom doesn’t add up.

Figuring he can control his bladder until he has the opportunity to pee (in a toilet, a bush, he’s not picky), he tries stumbling back downstairs. This is near-death experience number one.

Really the best way to describe it is a fall. If there weren’t the passing bodies on every step for him to use as a human buffer, he definitely would have broken something. And it’d be embarrassing to explain to Murray and Hall how he sprained his wrists trying to catch himself after stumbling down the stairs again, so he counts his blessings.

He tumbles to the bottom and, making use of the banister, hoists himself, his feet touching solid, leveled ground. He sets his sights on the kitchen, offering a dazzling smile to the faces he passes—as dazzling as a sweaty guy that reeks of mixed drinks can be. In the background he notices that his party mix playlist is nearly halfway through, and that he can’t remember where he set down is drink last. As he notices these things he also pats his pockets to check that his wallet and phone are at least there, which they are, so he’s doing pretty well. They’ve found his wallet in the flour bag in the kitchen before. Bitty was not pleased.

Near-death experience number two occurs here, at the counter between the stove and the sink, when he knocks over the very flammable dish detergent and nearly misses the open flame being used to make grilled cheese. He thought party grilled cheese was just a thing Johnson did, but apparently some of the other guys plan to carry on his legacy, a whole assembly line created to mass-produce sandwhiches. What’s more surprising is that someone actually uses detergent to clean the dishes.

He joins in on a circle of conversation that consists of people he mostly knows from classes, introducing himself to anyone else although it’s pointless and he’ll forget their names in a span of five minutes. Ultimately he gets bored and wanders off; typically about now would be the point he’d rematch Lardo to beer-pong or do a keg stand with assistance of Ransom or Holster, but he’s got a much better idea.

Nursey pushes through the throng of bodies with the nimbleness of that of an intoxicated man hoping for some action. Whilst doing so he spots his last winter screw in the corner of his eye—Lydia, has a thing for hockey players—and if circumstances had placed them in the same room two weeks ago he _so_ would again, but his heart’s set on someone else.

That someone else isn’t as enthusiastic to see him.

“You’re unbelievable.” Dex looks up to the ceiling like he’s silently praying to God.

Nursey’s unaffected, “You keep saying that. Why do you keep saying that?”

Dex sighs but doesn’t move to release himself from Nursey’s sudden bear hug. In fact, he hadn’t so much as flinched when Nursey came barreling through the room, a trail of destruction in his wake. He apologizes for the interruption to March and another girl on Samwell’s women’s volleyball team whose name Nursey can’t quite remember. The two girls shrug because a drunk Nursey’s nothing new, moving to a different area of the party and leaving Dex with Nursey hanging off his side. They’re in the far back of the Haus where it’s not as crowded, a nice bubble of space separating them from the people around them. Even with the cool temperature outside and being surrounded by marginally less people than the mosh pit of bodies that makes up the living room, it’s still far too hot to have a two-hundred pound, intoxicated, and heavy d-man latched on to your side. None the less, Dex’s attempts to shrug off Nursey are half-hearted at best.

“You smell like weed and tub juice.” But really no one expected any less from him. And it’s not like Dex has room to talk, it’s just that the fucker handles his alcohol like the god damn Irishman he is.

“It’s my new fragrance: _Odeur de Nurse_.” His head is tucked by the collar of Dex’s shirt, nose filled with Dex’s typical detergent—beach wave or summer sun or whatever it’s called. All that matters is that the smell is very pleasant. Not often can Nursey describe Dex as pleasant.

“Isn’t Chowder supposed to be watching you?”

“He was,” Nursey can’t tell if his mouth feels weird from smoking or because his cheek’s squished against Dex, “but then he went to his room with Farmer. Probably wanted more privacy to hold hands.”

Dex lets out his signature scoff/snort, a sound the shows he’s amused by a situation but also above it in maturity. “If you guys would stop babying Chowder maybe you’d realize he’s not as innocent as you make him out to be.”

“Shhh—“ Nursey smushes his finger against Dex’s mouth. Of course, he’d like to put other things near Dex’s mouth, but. Anyways. “People might hear you— we can’t let the secret get out.”

Dex swats away Nursey’s finger, “Why do I always end up being responsible for you?”

Nursey shrugs, frowning like he’s agreeing with Dex. Not for long, though, when he remembers why he’s latched on to Dex’s side in the first place, “Maybe I can show you?” He shifts his weight so that he supports himself for the most part, moving his hands to tug at the belt loop of Dex’s jeans, “If you’re down.”

“. . . Right.” Dex’s tone and expression are unfazed, grabbing Nursey’s wrists, relocating Nursey’s hands to not be half an inch away from his junk. Then he slings one of Nursey’s arm over his back, Nursey’s limbs pliant except for the wince from the strain in his shoulder. He hadn’t slept off the injury, but hadn’t said anything. Dex notices but doesn’t comment, instead focusing on escorting Nursey back to bed so that maybe this time he won’t blackout at the base of the stairs.

Nursey doesn’t mind being dragged along, if not for just the journey. It’s actually nice, feeling like you have four pairs of legs. At least that’s how Nursey feels, him and Dex functioning as one unit. “Dex, can I tell you a secret?”

“No.”

“Okay, but no snitching. D-man code,” he looks to Dex, who rolls his eyes and leads Nursey through the hall, “I get very handsy when I’m in this state. Not like the state of Massachusets, but—“

“Nurse, I’m fairly certain that your affinity for drunken hook-ups is common knowledge around here. I’m surprised _The Swallow_ hasn’t run any stories yet.”

“Hey, you’re gonna be thankful for my expertise later.” Nursey presses the words hot and heavily against Dex’s ear.

Dex mutters “No finesse,” although there’s a revealing, distinguishable tinge to his cheeks. Albeit he might be pink from the heat, or alcohol, or maybe today’s just one of those days where Dex’s face is inexplicably more pink. It’s just like how after showers Dex basically resembles a tomato, skin singed with hot water. Or how if you poke Dex, especially if he’s sunburnt, his skin will turn ghostly white for a split second wherever you poked him before returning to its original state. Basically, Nursey chirps him for all his White People Problems _™_ and gets endless entertainment from it.

As they continue their long journey, Nursey decides he would not survive the trip to Mordor if he can’t manage to push through a crowded frat house, slinking back into Dex’s side. However, while Bilbo had his blue glowing sword, Nursey is equip with determination and an arsenal of sexual prowess.

Henceforth, Dex ignores Nursey’s seeming inability to keep his hands to himself, instead steering both of them to the entrance where he informs one of the tadpoles that they’re leaving and to relay the message to Chowder if he comes looking.

They’ve pushed out of the Haus, into the cold 1 A.M. air, feet dragging against the sidewalk when Nursey’s thinks to ask, “Where are we going?”

“Taking you to my dorm.” Dex keeps his eyes forward, only interrupting his focus when he flicks away Nursey’s other hand from crawling under his shirt.

“Your dorm,” Nursey repeats in some sort of daze, looking up at the moon, “Beautiful.”

It’s not much of a walk from the Haus to Dex’s, and now that they’re not surrounded with bodies, they notice the cold and don’t waste time strolling leisurely. Nursey, though, manages to take this as an opportunity to become more so handsy than before, playfully biting Dex’s shoulder and managing this time to weasel his fingers under Dex’s cotton tee, his touch warm and pressing firmly into Dex’s side. It’s a test of both their patience.

Again, stairs have never been Nursey’s strong suit. He’s heavy and uncoordinated, Dex basically having to push him up step by step, wondering if Nursey’s doing this just to be difficult; it’s like he manages to lift Nursey up one step just to have him stumble back down two.

“Are you even trying!?” Dex grunts as they reach the landing for the second floor. There’s still another flight of stairs left.

Nursey stops, pointer finger held out and speaking with a very slurred, philosophical air, “’Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.’ Winston Churchill.”

Dex shakes his head, “Unbelievable.”

It’s when they’re in Dex’s room changing clothes that Nursey realizes ‘ _taking you to my dorm_ ’ strictly meant that he was being taken to Dex’s dorm. This time there’s a guitar standing in the corner of the room, a well-organized binder of sheet music open beside it.

“This place is a pig sty,” Nursey comments idly, noticing that every day Dex striked out on the calendar on his wall is done so with a perfect red ‘X’, probably using a ruler. It hangs right above his alphabetized book collection. “How do you survive?”

“Funny,” Dex pushes Nursey to sit down on his bed before he turns and begins riffling through his dresser. He pulls out two pairs of sweatpants, tossing one over his shoulder. He throws the other pair to Nursey, “Change. I’m going to the bathroom but I’ll be right back.”

“No need to be shy, dude. As if I haven’t seen everyone on the team’s junk at least once.”

Dex stops in the door frame and turns to shoot a warning look at Nursey before leaving down the hall, grabbing his bathroom caddie on his way out.

If he would have to assign a value to it, Nursey would say he’s putting in 30% effort to changing. He’s made some pretty good progress on unbuckling his belt, but his hands are too clumsy and his zipper’s stuck, and he’s fairly distracted by the sheer amount of plaid he can see hung in Dex’s closet. He tries counting but the patterns mix together at shirt eight or ten, until he eventually gives up and stands still, Dex coming back to find Nursey with his belt half-pulled out of his pant loops, top button undone, staring blankly at the closet. He then looks to Dex, offering a sheepish, unsteady smile, “Help?”

Dex opens his mouth, pausing for a moment, squinting at Nursey. His tone is resolute. “Nope. Have fun sleeping in jeans tonight.”

He starts to move around his dorm, shucking a pillow from his bed onto the floor, picking out extra blankets from the back of his closet. Nursey follows at Dex’s heels, stuck in his state on undress. “Dude,” he whines, tugging at his zipper helplessly, “My legs need to breathe. The jeans are crampin’ my style.”

Dex starts to spread out the blankets on the floor, not even lifting his head when he replies, “Should have thought about that beforehand.”

“This is awful,” Nursey groans and flops onto Dex’s bed. Dex trying to make a separate sleeping area for him is cute and all, but he’s doesn’t plan on sleeping on the floor. “I have to pee, my pants won’t come off, you won’t let me give you a blowjob—“

Dex sputters, “You’re drunk, Nurse. Go to sleep.”

“Why are you a Sober Sally all of the sudden,” Nursey huffs and doesn’t move to leave Dex’s bed.

Dex scoffs loudly, voice raised in pitch and volume, “So that maybe I won’t offer my friends blowjobs!”

Nursey props himself up on one elbow, scratches some scruff on his chin, speaking matter-of-factly, “First of all, I think we’ve surpassed the boundaries of friendship. Friends don’t tenderly kiss each other, dude,” he burps and continues, “Second, my inebriation has nothing to do with offering a bj. I first offered, what, during Thanksgiving break? That’s a whole _week_ ago. Sober Nursey wants to give head just as much as drunk Nursey. Or receive, doesn’t matter.” Closing his eyes, he lowers himself to rest against the pillow, an arrogant quirk to his features, “I guess I’m just too generous for my own good.”

In response Dex’s voice is commanding, “Get up.”

 _Yeah, right_. Nursey keeps his eyes closed and makes a show of relaxing into the bed, “I’m not sleeping on the floor, Dex.”

“If you don’t stand up right now and let me take off your pants, I _will_ deny you of any action for a _month_. And unlike you I have the self-restraint to wait. Got it?”

_So he’s not talking about the bed? Oh. OH._

Nursey has never stood up faster in his life.

After Dex spends time unzipping Nursey’s jeans, as Nursey had pointed out _See? It’s hard_ , followed by, _and I’m not just talking about unjamming the zipper_ (to which Dex snorted, and continued to fumble nervously), Nursey finally kicks free, wobbly and crashing into the furniture, Dex a mix of amused and annoyed.

“Ok,” Nursey says once the god forsaken jeans are flung out of the way, thankful he wore clean boxers. Nursey moves to stand in front of Dex, “You’re sure about this?”

There’s a moment where Dex’s breath hitches, “Yeah.”

“You’re sure you’re sure?”

“Derek.”

“What made you change your mind? You seemed pretty adamant on keeping me in the no-bone zone.”

Dex’s lips are thin in contemplation, eye contact broken, silence aside from the whine of the space heater. He admits, “I didn’t want to be just another one of your weekend screws.”

Nursey’s a little stunned. He’s never been eager to jump the gun on labeling relationships, or to label things in general, and he honestly thought that doing so would maybe freak Dex out. It also pains him that Dex could think that little of both him and himself.

“Tomorrow I will write you a sonnet explaining why you’re so, so wrong. It’ll put Shakespeare to shame.”

“That’s really not necessary.” Dex’s bemused smirk says otherwise.

“No, I’m gonna do it. Just— for right now though— are you sure you’re sure you’re sure?”

“Derek. Yes.”

“Ok,” their bodies are close, Nursey’s hand moving to cup Dex’s jaw, “But first, I _really_ have to pee.”

William J. Poindexter rolls his eyes, taking a step back.

“Unbelievable.”


	8. Chapter 8

**/q/**

It’s five in the morning when the passing sound of a fire truck stirs Nursey awake. It could be from someone’s smoke that came a little too close to a fire detector or a common kitchen mishap on frat row, there’s no telling. He briefly listens to make sure it’s not their building that’s on fire, but with the lack of alarms and screaming it seems safe. Blinking hazily, he tries to adjust his eyes to the foggy blue darkness engulfing the room. Beside him Dex sleeps like a tank, back pushed against the wall, the material of his sweatshirt’s hood collecting at his neck. One hand is wedged under his pillow, the other resting in the space between them, fingers in a loose grip around the fabric of the sheets. Puffs of steady air are released from his nostrils in a near-snore, features calm, so unlike the hard draw of eyebrows or the angles of his jaw and tilt of his mouth that defines Dex.

He stares at the ceiling for far too long until accepting that he’s not going back to sleep.

Nursey rubs at his eyes as he stumbles out of bed, brain hazy from the night before—which was actually only five hours ago, but time is just an illusion, or human concept, whatever—tugging on a pair of Dex’s sweatpants over his briefs. He grabs Dex’s keycard alongside his own wallet so he can get back into the building, the space heater whining him a goodbye as he slips out of the room.

These late-night-early-morning escapades used to be much more of a habit of his, back when he tried to test authority just to find his parents would sweep their concern under the rug, consumed with work and stress. That’s not to say they didn’t care for his well-being, but, had he been on a leash, it would have run miles long.

He realizes once he’s out of the building that he’s not exactly sure where he’s going. The air is crisp and goose bumps prickle at his skin, a shiver running down his spine. A few birds chirp in the trees, the fallen leaves crunching beneath his feet as he wanders around the sidewalk. Nearby is a bench, spotlighted in the dim orange of an overhead streetlamp. It’s silent but not lonely, the mere hours of the morning where the world doesn’t expect anything of you. Looking up he can see a rare room or two with its lights still on, either someone forgetting to turn them off or, as Nursey is now, awake before the sun rises.

It reminds him of summers in Manhattan, endless nights that blurred together, full of mischief and beauty, sneaking on to his building’s roof and escaping things for a little while. Sometimes he’d bring up his close friends, too, to the nook between the roofs where you could overlook a strip of the city, feet dangling off the edge as the sun starts to peak from the back of the horizon. More often than not his only other company would be his notebook and pen, articulating lines of emotion or scribbling swirls into the margins. He bets if he went back now there’d still be a few stray beer bottles rolling around or a stub of ash on whatever surface.

He decides he wants to show it to Dex. Not only his grungy rooftop ledge, but also his favorite shops in West Village and the endless alleys of Chinatown, or the grass field his nanny would always take him to, where he spent most of his summers growing up, the one with outdoor chess tables where he’d watch old men play, one in particular always having a cigar hanging by his mouth. There’s the slab of cement near a skate shop with his initials permanently sketched in one corner, not too far off from the tattoo parlor he first got inked in.

It’s odd to think that someday in the future he’ll reminisce about this place too. Maybe not the _Stop &Shop _murder runs, because the place sort of peeves him out, but he might find himself actually missing boring study groups at Founders and Professor Borden’s monotone drawl every Tuesday and Thursday morning.

Contrary to what the previous statements may lead you to believe, he does actually like it here. Although he’s currently wandering and tired, not sure what called him to leave the comfort of Dex’s room; the navy sheets and rumpled hair, the rise and fall of a warm chest, the low hum of a radiator the only other sound, he likes Samwell.

But right now he just needed more room to think.

The Pond is in the distance and calling his name, waking geese waddling around the shore. A man on a bike peddles by as Nursey crosses the street and follows the path down to the water, settling on to a prickly patch of grass and leaning his back against the base of a tree. Nearby is the beeping of a delivery truck unloading cargo on its rounds through campus, currently docking at _Annie’s_. The sun’s set to rise soon, and there after Nursey will maybe feel inspired enough to think of a line or two more to add to his poetry assignment, and if not he’ll just grab two quick coffees once the shop is open that he’ll try his best not to drink on the walk back.

While this isn’t how he typically spends Sunday mornings, not bothering to roll out of bed until noon, brain hurting from the night before, a part of him misses the short few hours of the A.M. where the world seems to be at peace. He wouldn’t mind experiencing this more often.

After all, old habits die hard.

**/r/**

The sun rises and the campus awakens.

People are out on morning jogs, dressed in under armor from head to toe, puffs of breath visible in the cool air. Nursey's hands stay warm with a cup of coffee in either, goose bumps only leaving his skin when he steps inside the dorm building, the sun's rays not strong enough to provide any warmth. It doesn’t help that he forgot to grab a jacket on his way out. While he’s not _shivering_ , it didn’t help that he had to perform a balancing act to retrieve the keycard from his back pocket, somehow holding two styrofoam cups in one hand and swiping the car past the sensor in one swift movement. Swift-ish. He was a little surprised in himself.

He's also surprised when Dex is nowhere to be seen. The bed is made, blinds are drawn, room looking uninhabited. He stands in the center, dumbfounded.

The door was left ajar, cluing that Dex hasn’t left the building. So Nursey stays with features pulled in thought, trying to puzzle things together.

Lines of light from the window streak the room in chunky stripes. The jeans Nursey had shed last night are folded and draped on one of the bed posts, the tissues they had lazily used to clean up now in the trash, the room in a much different state than he had left it.

The door creaks and Dex pushes into the room, returning with brushed teeth and smoothed-down hair. He duly notes Nursey's presence, "You're still here."

Nursey’s words falter, “What's that supposed to mean?"

"I woke up and you weren't here so I assumed you left," Dex passes by to his dresser and pulls out clothing, tone somewhere between passive and confrontational. His head pokes through the collar of a well-worn _Indian Motorcycle_ t-shirt as he says, "I had thought that you woke up early since you wanted to leave."

Nursey finds himself caught off guard trying to decipher Dex’s countenance, voice too neutral to reveal anything, “Why would I leave?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” Dex keeps his movements refrained, arms crossed and leaning against the dresser.

“Then what’s with the accusations?”

“Do I _sound_ accusatory?”

“Okay, just,” Nursey stops before anything becomes elevated, swallowing his words. _Chill_. “I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep. Don’t know why you’re making a big deal.”

“I’m not making it a big deal—“

“You kind of fucking are, Will.”

He was expecting immediate backlash; a livid counterattack from a quick tongue and sharp thoughts. There isn’t. There’s nothing

The coffee feels like it’s burning his hands.

Dex stands still, arms crossed, eyes on the ground. It’s his state of contemplation. He lets out a low, exasperated breath, “I thought that you changed your mind or something. Changed your mind about us.”

"Dude, no," Nursey rejects, expression pinched but voice dropping, "It’s not like that. I'm _serious_ about this. Did you really think…?”

He uncrosses his arms and scratches the back of his neck. “I don’t know what I thought. For what it counts, though, sorry.”

It’s not the right way to end the argument. There’s no action Nursey can take from here other than blindly trying his best to show that he’s here to be a feature of Dex’s life. He’s not talking about settling, they’re _far_ from it, but he’d like if they could be more open with each other without needing a fight to prompt their feelings. He could ask Dex what the stem of the problem was, why he jumped to that conclusion, if it’s an insecurity thing. There’s so much to ask.  

He doesn’t, though.

For now, this is fine. It’s enough.

He provides a meager "It’s cool. Coffee?" He holds up the two cups as if offering a peace treaty.

“How about you sleep first?” His suggestion is sincere, standing up and extending his hands to Nursey, who sacrifices his morning caffeine fix just this once. As Dex sets the cups somewhere, Nursey settles on to the bed, stuffing a pillow beneath him and letting his eyes droop. Admittedly, this is better than coffee.

There's some shuffling near the other corner of the room, what sounds like Dex picking up the guitar, accidentally knocking into a string or two as he secures the guitar strap across his chest. Nursey peels one eye open to see if that’s the case, which it is, and then pushes his back closer to the wall, a patch of space on the bed just large enough for Dex to sit. He pats it when Dex walks back over, pulling his swivel chair behind him. When Dex makes sense of it, the chair’s abandoned in the middle of the room. They take some time to arrange themselves in a way that's comfortable but close, Dex's legs crossed, one of his knees just barely pressing into Nursey's stomach. He leans against the wall, slouching over the guitar, strumming a few times, fiddling with the tuners.

Nursey strains his head to look up, “So we’re cool now, right?”

“Yeah,” Dex confirms with a small smile, “we’re cool.”

Maybe this is how they work; spikes of heat followed by cool-down. Arguments and periods of reconciliation. What’s challenging is reconfiguring from friendship to partners— there’s a lot more feelings involved. Jealousy, love, fear, all the thematic units Nursey’s studied upon pages of novels, but is yet to grasp in his own life. He can read between the lines of Huxley and Thoreau but when it comes to Dex he’s lost.

 “So what’s up with you and playing guitar now?”

“Oh, uh, I guess I used to play a lot back home whenever I was bored,” Dex pauses to test a string, then again tweaks a tuner so slightly, “But I never brought it here because it’s my dad’s. This one’s just I’m just borrowing from the music library.”

“You can check out instruments from there?”

“Yeah, it’s the same concept as checking out a book. As long as they have availability I’ll just keep renewing it. At least I think that’s what the girl at the party said.”

Nursey hums and sandwiches his hands between the pillow and Dex’s leg, his head near Dex’s waist. It’s comfortable and quiet, both relaxing into the same space, warm with wooly socks and loose sweatpants, an early morning rightfully spent in bed. They could pull the covers up from beneath them, but then Nursey wouldn’t have an excuse to wiggle closer and pull his body tighter around Dex’s limbs. He can tell that Dex notices these things; he keeps his breathing shallow and sits still like he’s afraid the smallest movement will disturb their balance. He keeps his elbow steady as he starts plucking out a tune, soft and slow.

A content sigh releases from within Nursey, listening to the notes waft through the room with familiarity he can’t place.

In high school Nursey had had a thing with a guy who played the bass for a crummy garage band that mostly covered _Green Day_ and _Blink-182_. It was more of a physical attraction than anything else, just the appeal of spiky blond hair and an eyebrow piercing and the type of person that you couldn’t really find at Andover. They’d sneak around and go to concerts in grimy basements that smelled like piss and weed, sweaty and pushed against a wall, hands over each other.

He doesn’t regret any of his relationships, if using a loose definition of the term. He’s never been too serious about them, but always honest. Mostly he would ride the wave to see where it would take him.

But right now listening to Dex, with birds tittering from the window and the steady fall of their chests, this feels like the right place to be. He just fears he might wash up on the shore.

He’s half-asleep, just enough consciousness to chirp, “You gonna play _Wonderwall_ , or what?”

There’s a good chance Dex rolled his eyes, “No,” before he goes back to strumming probably _The Eagles_ or _Red Hot Chili Peppers_ or whatever dad rock he listens to.

Nursey laughs lightly, breathily, dozing off with a small smile etched onto his face.

It’s not a deep sleep. He wanes in and out, sometimes registering that Dex has changed songs or taken a break from playing, other times stirring awake for half a second before drifting back off. At some point Dex rests the guitar on the ground, leaning the neck of it against his desk, uncrossing his legs to stretch them out. There’s some rustling before the _Game of Thrones_ intro song plays, laptop on his lap, Nursey mumbling unintelligibly as he reaches out his arm to blindly mash keys trying to turn the volume down.

Dex guides Nursey’s hand off the keyboard, “Are you trying to activate sticky keys or what?”

“Volume,” Nursey speaks through a mouthful of pillow, refusing to open his eyes yet. He lets his arm stay strung across Dex, not too inclined to move. Although he doesn’t fall back asleep, his eyes are only half-open, craning his head upward. He puts his focus on Dex, how his chin tips down, not completely awake himself. Morning light hits his eyes a striking amber color as he blinks slowly.

Time ticks onward. An hour, maybe. Or half. Twenty minutes? Enough time for his voice to be scratchy, gravel dragging against his tongue, “Hey, Dex?” Nursey tries to swallow the taste of ‘too many hours since dental hygiene’ from his mouth, “This morning I was thinking that maybe you’d want to go home with me for part of winter break? Only if you’re down, though. Whatever you want is cool. I know you have family and stuff.”

Dex pauses the episode, room falling quieter. “Really?”

Nursey pushes himself to sit up more so they’re level with each other. “I’m not asking for an immediate answer, but just think about it, kay?”

Shutting his laptop, Dex squares it away near the guitar, “Sure.”

“ _Sure_ you’ll think about it _sure_ or _sure_ you’ll go _sure_?”

Dex’s face twists to say _You’re being ridiculous, Nurse_. “How anyone thinks you’re cool is beyond me.”

“I’m waiting for an answer here, Poindexter,” Nursey pokes him in the stomach, Dex immediately contracting his abdomen and slapping the hand away.

“Since you’re begging,” Dex nudges him back earnestly, _“_ I’ll go.”

It’s said casually, like a daily conversation. ‘Wanna get food?’ ‘Sure let’s go.’ ‘How about we go to New York so I can introduce my boyfriend (???) to my parents and maybe have you to myself for a few days?’ ‘Yeah okay.’  Dex is being oddly chill about it.

While Nursey tries to match the calmness of Dex’s demeanor, he’s definitely awake now, “Dude forreal? Sick.”

Dex responds with a sly, nearly arrogant look. His spine pops as he stands and stretches, offering his hand to pull Nursey up. There’s a _bzzzrt_ from his pocket, pulling out his phone to read a text before thumbing out a quick message and sliding the phone into a pocket of his gym bag, “Chowder and I are swimming and then we’re hitting the Commons. You wanna tag along?”

As much as Nursey would love to see that— _love_ to see that—he can’t stand the taste of his own mouth right now. Brad’s girlfriend leaves an extra toothbrush for whenever she spends a night at their dorm. Which is a lot. She split-inhabits her own room and theirs, which is kind of fucking annoying because Nursey didn’t sign up for two roommates. But she’s always down to pregame and plays music on Samwell’s student radio for a couple hours every Saturday, so it’s chill.

Anyways, he should bring a toothbrush here. “Nah, I smell pretty rank. Gonna shower and change,” Nursey catches the wad of his jeans that Dex flings at him from across the room, “Text me when you’re going to the commons though, I’ll meet you guys halfway.”

Dex passes by, stopping at Nursey to take a whiff and immediately pulling a face.

Which is a little dramatic. “It’s not _that_ bad.”

“I guess if you like the smell of blowjobs and dried sweat. And dirt.” Dex waits outside the bedroom door, key in hand, watching Nursey search for wherever his phone ended up last night.

“One of those is your fault, by the way,” he moves around the pillows on the bed until he finds his phone wedged in the corner, four percent battery. “People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones, D.”

Dex scoffs as he locks the door behind them. “Praise the bridge that carried you over to that glass house, fucker.”

**/s/**

He’s back in his own room, half-heartily undressing with one hand, checking his phone with the other; some texts from Shitty complaining about the loud girl next to him, some pictures in the group chat of Tango being totally schwasted last night, some other friends inviting him to a house show at one in the morning, and a whole lot of snapchats. He wraps himself in a towel and carries his stuff off to the bathroom, not really paying attention, playing Holster’s minute-long story of him throwing food at Ransom, who’s passed out at the breakfast table, practically using Bitty’s pancakes as a pillow. Next is Chowder, whose starts with him and Farmer sporting the dog ears filter, then a clip of a goal from an old Shark’s game, and most recently updated with a selfie in the gym locker room with the caption ‘ABOUT TO SWIM!!!’, followed with a bunch of swimming man emojis, Dex caught off guard in the background.

Dex caught off guard but still looking good, towel tossed over his shoulder, back facing the camera but head turned like Chowder called his name right as he took it. Dex with even more freckles splattering across his shoulders than Nursey remembered, because last night he wasn’t focused on admiring Dex in the heat of the moment, and despite dressing in the same locker room day in and day out there’s bro code to follow. So this is one of those moments where Nursey’s allowed to admire Dex’s physique—strong but built for speed; muscles efficient, not massive.

His phone dies as he stands over the bathroom sink, Nursey looking at his reflection in the mirror.

 _Shower_ , he thinks, then checks himself, correcting, _a nice,_ cold _shower._


	9. Chapter 9

**/t/**

Late-night murder run to the _Stop &Shop_. Thick coats, ears tucked under warm hats, third week of December. A lone box of graham crackers lies in their cart.

“Is this a double date?”

Nursey’s contemplating between trail mix brands in either hand, “Nah,” he looks up on a second thought, “Was dinner with Chowder and Farmer last week a double date? When we got takeout?”

Last Friday the four of them had gone back to the volleyball house after a week of finals to de-stress with Chinese carryout and beer, falling asleep somewhere during their _Harry Potter_ marathon. Not a single one of them was awake by the time credits rolled for _The Chamber of Secrets_.

“That one’s a better deal per ounce,” Dex, peering over Nursey’s shoulder, tips his head to the bigger bag.

“But it has raisins in it.”

There’s a muttered ‘ _for fuck’s sake’_ before: “Then choose the other one. Do you think it was a double date?”

“I dunno,” the bag lands in the cart with a _thunk,_ the metal wire chattering in response. Nursey scratches his scruff, trailing behind as they stroll through the aisle, “There weren't any romantic presumptions or whatever.”

They stop at the wall of cereal, Dex sending him a look verging on impatient; for the fifteen minutes they’ve been here there’s only now two items in their cart. Nursey likes to take his time, okay? Weigh all his options. Read all the ingredients. During this time Dex’s emotions range from bored to irritated to between, the musty yellow overhead lighting seeming to flicker with his expressions. He looks a little drained of life, a week of all-nighters and finals finally catching up to him. By tomorrow they’ll be on break, back home for actual meals and sleep schedules that are some semblance of normal. For now, though, Dex will end up sneaking a redbull into the cart at checkout, anyways.

It’s not a bad look on him, honestly– hair tossed with the windchill, grown out a little longer than usual, a scatter of freckles under the blue tint of sleep deprivation that blooms like a canopy under his eyes. His lips are chapped from the cold, teeth chattering on the trek here, which shouldn’t look _good_ on anybody, but here he is to prove that wrong, so. The point is, it’s easy to get lost in looking at him.

“What were we talking about again?”

Dex is guilty of it, too; it shows in the smitten half-quirked smile that comes before, “Takeout. Date or not?” because he understands what it’s like to be captivated with one another in an entirely new light than before, something more private and personal. “Are you seriously looking up the definition of ‘date’?”

“Let's see, day of the month– no, not it. Ok, here. Noun. A social or romantic appointment or engagement,” Nursey pockets his phone, “Since there wasn’t any clarification beforehand, nah. Not a date.”

“Yeah but we _engaged_ in stuff when they left to pick up the food,” Dex reminds with his voice lowered as if they’re not the only people in the store aside from the cashier, who’s half-asleep at the register and probably just waiting for the very minute he can clock out of work.

Another observation of Dex is that he’s vague as fuck when it comes to intimacy, using ‘stuff’ as if Nursey can read his mind. _Wanna come over and do stuff?_ could mean napping together after a long day or getting frisky instead of doing homework. There's no telling.

Not that it's annoying, it holds Nursey on his toes, but part of it feels like a sign that Dex is uncomfortable about some aspect of intimacy. Whether that relates to the circumstances of their relationship or just how Dex’s brain is hardwired is the question. There's people like Shitty that are so unabashed about their libido, especially sharing stories at parties when there's a big crowd to entertain, and then on the opposite end of the spectrum there’s Dex, who’s always been secretive of his private life. Now that Nursey _is_ his private life you'd think he’d at least known how far the guy’s gone before, but Dex is so damn stubborn with his vagueness.

Nursey replies like it’s an afterthought, “I could blow you in a bathroom stall right now and call this a date.”

Dex, amused, raises a brow, “No, I'd just call that you being a slut.”

“Caught me,” Nursey mutters, grabbing a box of cornflakes, Dex leaving a trail of laughter behind them as the push further down the aisle. “I mean, nothing against making out and listening to _Aerosmith_ and _White Noise_ –”

“ _White Stripes_.”

He knows that, but he also knows how to annoy Dex. Subsequently, “There is literally no difference, Will. Anyways–”

“It's _classic rock_. And I put up with your weird art friends.”

“They're not– yeah, okay. Point taken.” He’s attempted introducing Dex to his circle of friends, the art and theater majors that have no overlap to their inherent hockey crowd. They went to a house show with a local band playing in the basement of one of the cobblestones near the Arts & Architecture Library, the whole block consisting of students enrolled in some sector of the arts department. With everyone in the basement smelling of cigarettes, drinking _Pabst_ and sullenly nodding along to _a guy lamenting into a microphone–this isn’t music–what the fuck is this, Derek?_ Nursey could at least say that he tried. He’s actually started to appreciate the infamous dad rock genre, especially when Dex is in a good mood and will play air guitar half-naked, dancing around all one hundred square feet of his dorm, carefree and comfortable. It makes Derek swell with _something_ but he’ll work on figuring out exactly what that something is later. Right now, though, there are better questions to ask. “Why’s it so important to you, anyways?”

“If we’re dating we should probably go on a date. Legitimize it.”

“So we aren’t ‘legit’ until we go on a date?”

“No, that's not what I'm saying,” Dex sighs and pushes the cart forward into another aisle, “I feel like you're trying to turn this into an argument.”

“I’m just trying to get a feel for how your brain works.”

“Well, you see, I have billions of these things called _nerve cells_ and somehow you’ve managed to get on every single one of them.”

“Dex. Not trying to start an argument.”

He looks at Nursey in sharp confusion-- not dumfounded or aloof, a look that conveys _what now?_ “Is there something you want me to say? What am I missing here?”

“Remember when I went for a walk that one morning and you thought I ditched you?”

“This again? That's was _weeks_ ago. I thought we settled it.”

“It just doesn't sit right with me.”

There’s a brief moment of silence as Dex tries to read the situation, looking at Nursey the way he looks at strings of text that need decoding, except maybe his eyes are a little softer, a little heavy, “This is my first time being with a guy, let alone a teammate, so of course my guard’s gonna be up more. I can’t afford to be as chill about it as you.”

“I’m your first dude?” Nursey’s tone comes off as surprised, but that's mostly due to Dex opening up, and in the middle of the murder _Stop &Shop _no less.

“Well,” Dex wrinkles his nose, “first to be serious about, I guess.”

Nursey’s hand flies out to grab onto the cart, stopping them in the soup section, “No way. Who was before me?”

Dex tightens his lips, “I don’t want to out them.”

“Dude. You’re killing me, here. I’ll do anything.”

“Even let me chose where we’re eating for our date? Tomorrow?”

“Shouldn’t I choose since I live there and know all the restaurants?” a quick glance at Dex’s expectant expression and Nursey sweeps that thought under the rug, “Okay. Your pick.”

Dex nods and right when it starts to feel like he’s not going to say anything, “You know Conor Lund?”

“No fucking way. The one that rows crew?”

“Yeah. And Owen Meza. Soccer.”

“Don’t know him but the guy sounds like an asshole,” Nursey serves a look of disdain and disbelief, Dex snickering, “A soccer player, Dex? Really?”

“Come on, like you haven’t been with half of the girls’ team.”

“So I’m your third? There’s no more?”

“You’re being possessive again,” Dex points out, nudging Nursey’s side.

Nursey’s eyes subconsciously drift to the area right above Dex’s hip, where under layers of clothing his skin’s bitten in purples and blues, little reminders kept low enough to not spot in the locker room.

“And your point is?”

“I’m not asking _you_ for a list of guys you’ve been with.” Dex looks too fucking devious to not be thinking _because_ _who knows how long that’d take_.

Even if that’s not the case, Nursey nudges him right back, “What about back in Maine? High school?”

“I had a girlfriend, remember? Word would spread too quickly in a small town. Besides, I didn’t even let myself think about sexual identity until Bitty came out last year.” Dex stares off in the distance when he says it, giving a tiny shrug before slowly rolling the cart along.

But Nursey can’t find himself to move after something so-- heartbreaking. It’s never as simple as being able to deny part of yourself indefinitely, that’s for sure. Maybe Dex thought he could for those eighteen years. He’s smart; he had to know the repression wouldn’t hold, right? “Did you really?”

Dex looks over his shoulder and waits for Nursey to stand beside him again, “Like I said, you’re also my teammate-- I see you at least five times a week for practices alone. And I’m here on a sports scholarship. If something goes wrong between us and it transfers onto the ice, well. I’m putting a lot at risk.”

Nursey glances around quickly, listens for anyone else in the store before wrapping his hand around Dex’s and giving it a squeeze, “No matter what I’m always going to be your best friend and annoying you all the time. D-men for life.”

Dex groans, but he squeezes right back, “Don’t remind me.”

**/u/**

“I'm gonna miss you guys _so much_. We’re all gonna Skype, right? We’ll be in different time zones but I can stay up late if you want, but not any later than midnight because I get cranky if don’t get enough sleep–”

Nursey drops an armful of groceries onto the countertop, “Cool it, C. Just got here.”

Dex is still halfway outside, stomping his boots against the doorframe to shake off any snow. Typically they’d just trudge in and let evaporation work its magic to clean up the puddles, but this isn’t the hockey frat, it’s the volleyball house that’s actually quite clean thanks to it being inhabited by sensible girls who like being able to breathe without inhaling trace amounts of beer and sweat. 

“I know, but I'm not gonna see you guys until _next year_.”

“That's how New Year’s typically works,” Dex captures Chowder in headlock and gives him a noogie, Chowder wiggling out after pleading mercy and insisting he needs to get blankets. Dex lets him go with a final laugh.

Farmer watches Chowder scamper up the stairs fondly before pouring out some of the snacks into bowls, “So what time are you guys leaving tomorrow? You’re taking the Greyhound, right?”

“Actually I'll be in Manhattan with Nurse for a while,” Dex replies casually, taking a handful of pretzels and popping a few in his mouth. He's been weirdly casual about it in general. Hasn't asked any questions aside if there was some sort of gym facility he could use.

“And we’re taking Lard’s car. Shitty’s picking her up or something.”

“Oh, wow, that's really nice of her! She seems really cool.”

“Farmer, you're looking at the _epitome of cool_ right now,” Nursey motions to himself, pulling a face he hopes has some semblance of Danny Zuko.

Dex scoffs before elaborating, “Anyways. I tune up her car from time to time so she lets me borrow it.”

“I think that'll be fun! Chris was probably pretty bummed that he has to fly back so early.”

Dex and Nursey share a look; they haven't actually told Chowder. It's not a secret, per se, but why shouldn't they treat it the same as when Ransom and Holster visit each other for the holidays? No grand announcement, just going as they please.

“Yeah,” Dex offers, scratching the back of his neck, “Hopefully movie night’s gonna make it up to him.”

Farmer nods and contemplates briefly, smiling a little deviously as she asks, “Speaking of, think he's gonna make it through the movie?”

“Depends. What are we watching?”

She tips her head to _The Conjuring_ DVD case lying on the kitchen table among the collective pile of gloves and hats and scarves, big jackets thrown across the backs of the chairs, winter layers shed. Dex’s sarcastic “ _Oooh spooooky_ ” is followed up by a definite “No way” from Derek, eyes darting to a bright, unsuspecting Chowder who’s carrying an armful of blankets into the living room. 

“You’re one to talk, Nurse. Last Halloween. _The Babadook_?” Dex remarks, glancing at Farmer as to say _get a load of this guy_ , “he left halfway to make popcorn and didn’t come back for thirty minutes. Basically missed the whole movie.”

“The microwave sucks and the plot had holes.”

“Don’t lie to yourself--”

“I’m not lying!”

“Okay, friends!” Chowder interrupts, clapping his hands together, “The room’s good to go we just need to bring in the snacks!”

With that, him and Farmer leave the room carrying a bowl each, arms slung around each other’s side; Dex and Nursey lag behind, Dex handing off the bowl of pretzels and using it as an excuse to get into Nursey’s personal space, “Want me to check under the bed for monsters for you? Or is it ghosts you're scared of?”

“First, D, ghosts aren’t real. Neither are monsters unless in the metaphorical sense.”

“Didn’t you say you believe in spirits? Chakabras?”

“Chakras.”

“Yeah those things,” Dex says over his shoulder as they enter into the living room, lights already shut off, Chowder sticking a whole sheet of graham crackers in his mouth to try to make Farmer laugh, the two of them squished in the loveseat next to the couch. The coffee table’s been pushed closer for easier access to snacks, a heap of blankets littering the floor. There’s enough comforters and duvets littered in piles around the floor that it should definitely be some sort of fire or safety hazard.

In the dark, Nursey concentrates on not tripping, bumping into furniture, or getting his foot caught in the loop of a quilt, following Dex but not trusting that he has the same amount of nimbleness, especially while carrying food. He has a bad rap sheet of spilling food when he tries to walk at the same time. Or spilling just about anything, for that matter. Ask his laptop at the bottom of the lake.

So it’s not until they take their place on the couch, a few calculated spare inches separating them, that Nursey replies, “I believe in, like, the essence of the spirit connecting mind and body but not _Sixth Sense_ spirits. Feel me?”

He can’t really tell in the dark but he’s pretty sure Dex is pulling his _what the fuck_ face. Nursey pinches him in the thigh for it.

Ignoring that, Dex fishes a blanket from the ground, lets it drape haphazardly between them, pulling up the hood on his sweatshirt and stuffing his hands in the front pocket before asking, “Who’s got the remote?” It’s a sweatshirt from his high school, _Old Winnie Warriors_ printed proudly in a faded golden yellow. The sleeves barely cover Dex’s wrists, and the waist lies just a thin line above the band of his sweatpants, the thing probably having fit better years ago. Nonetheless he always falls asleep in it, from what Nursey can tell, at least when it’s too cold in the winter to not sleep bundled. But that just makes Nursey sound as superstitious as Chowder.

Speaking of, “Yo, lovebirds, remote.”

“Oops, I got it! Sorry!” Farmer apologizes after calming down from a fit of giggles from whatever the two were doing over there. Usually they’re pretty good at not being That Couple, but it’s the last day before winter break and tomorrow morning Chowder’s flying across the country to California for a few weeks, so Nursey spares him this time. And by that he means he’ll make fun of Chowder over Skype later.

The movie starts with a creepy fucking doll and goose bumps prickle Nursey’s arms. It’s cold in here, okay? He pulls the blanket up to his chest and crosses his arms beneath it, sinking into his sweater. He doesn’t know why he signed up for this.

Dex watches with a bemused tilt to his lips, keeping his voice low when he whispers, “Comfortable, Nurse?”

“Shut up.”

“Dude, the acting is _so_ bad you can’t take it seriously–”

“Shh,” Nursey hushes him and focuses intently on the screen. He'd rather watch these stupid roommates get murdered by a doll than think about how the screen illuminates Dex’s profile, the bow of his lips pulled smugly, eyelashes fluttering between the TV and Nursey.

“I’m just saying. Little kid and old doll cliché.”

“You’re a cliché. Now shut up.” Nursey doesn’t miss the soft laugh that escapes Dex. He can’t help that Dex has the weirdest taste in movies-- there’s no genre to what he watches, but generally whatever he picks is shit. Stuff he grew up watching on cassettes. _Spaceballs_. _Starship Troopers._ Anything _Monty Python_. He’s forced Nursey to sit through all of _Escape to Witch Mountain_ , including the credits. Nursey’s tried to make Dex watch some foreign films, but Dex never pays attention because apparently subtitles are too much reading.

He’s so lost in thought about how _Life is Beautiful is a classic, subtitles or not, thanks,_ that he startles when Dex says in his ear, “Look, Derek. Says it’s based on a true story.” That and that alone is the only reason he jumps a little.

Dex stifles a laugh, grabbing Nursey’s hand under the blanket, a warm touch hidden beneath the pillow wedged between them. What Nursey wishes they could’ve done in the store without having to care who’s around.

Apparently whoever produced this movie fucking loves jumpscares and loud noises, so when there’s a particularly large crash and Chowder yelps along with Nursey’s ‘ _Oh, shit_ ’, it’s even more surprising there’s no chirp from Dex afterward.

Nursey’s heart beat still pumping, he turns to look to his left, only able to see the top of a black hoodie with orange hair sticking out, Dex’s face smushed against the pillow and fast asleep.

 _It would be really hard_ , Nursey thinks, relaxing into the couch and mind miles away from whatever’s on the screen, _to not fall in_ _love with this boy._


	10. Chapter 10

**/v/**

Encapsulated. That’s a good word for how it feels. But encapsulated in _what_? It’s something soft like the pillow you rest your head on each night, it’s something warm like the sidewalk in the start of summer, it’s the shape of smudged ink pouring heart onto paper, it’s the weight of a hand on his thigh after Dex fumbled with asking, insisting that he’s good at driving and only needs to keep one hand on the wheel.

 _Encapsulated_. Nursey jots down the word on a fresh page before tucking his moleskin into the glove compartment. He’ll write about it later. Right now Dex is talking and he should be listening.

“...so then I had to explain to him that the car had an air-blending system, which basically blows air that’s warm from the radiator into temperature-specific valves, which is a lot more gas-efficient than cooling air, but the fucker was arguing about water-valve heating anyways, and-- this is boring you, isn’t it?”

“What? No,” Nursey hides a yawn behind his hand, “Car stuff totally turns me on.”

Dex scoffs but is smiling all the same, “Radiator. Heat valve.”

“Don’t stop, baby.”

“Rudder.”

“Oh, yeah. Talk dirty to me.”

“A rudder’s not even part of a car, dingus,” Dex laughs and flicks Nursey while keeping his eyes on the road, sun shining brightly over the snow-covered Manhattan Bridge. The GPS announces they’re ten minutes away. Five, maybe, if this traffic flow stays constant.

“Are you nervous?” Nursey can’t help but frown when Dex moves his hand back to the wheel so he has control while changing lanes.

“For what?” Dex asks absentmindedly, signal ticking as the car shifts.

“Not being with your family. Coming home with me,” Nursey picks up his coffee that’s long since gone cold, looks at the brown stains along the inside of the white cup, “Meeting my parents.”

There’s a stretch of honking horns and cars driving past, the _rut-a-tut_ of engines.

“Should I be?”

Nursey shrugs and takes a sip, “I dunno. Guess not.”

Dex hums and thinks, thumbs tapping against the wheel although the music’s not very loud, “Do you like them?”

An odd question, that. It should be the other way around: _Do you think they’ll like me?_ It’s just the way Dex’s brain works, Nursey’s noticed, finding answers to things his own way.

“I mean, they’re my parents.”

“I’m gonna need a little more than that. How’d you guys get along?”

“I don't know. Okay-ish? Both of them have high-demand jobs so for a while I knew my nanny better than I knew them,” Nursey tries to explain it in a way that presents fact rather than opinions. He’s neutral about his parents. As their son he owes it to them to love as family, to stay reserved at dinner parties and smile at their coworker’s compliments for how they raised such a handsome man, _who’s attending a private college to study literature, did you know?_ “Maybe I don’t make time for them, either, though. I don’t know. I like them.”

“My mom’s pretty busy with kids running around, and it’s not exactly the same situation as yours, but close enough,” Dex’s fingers rap a rhythm against the steering wheel, “So I feel like if you really wanted to talk you’d find some way to do it.”

“How many of there are you? Four, right?”

“Five. My older brother’s basically moved to the coast to help my uncle year-round on the boat so we don't see him much.”

“Oh, yeah, the dude with the ‘stache. I thought he was your cousin.”

“I probably see my cousins more than I see him, actually.”

Nursey didn’t grow up lonely. He had the kids across the street and then the friends he’d make at school, the types of guys with boat shoes and cropped hair, pug faces that were only considered handsome because of the cash in their pockets. Nursey’s never been oblivious. And it’s easy to fit into that crowd, press your shirts and date some girls and play a sport and watch your contact list grow, it’s easy to find pleasure from the mass string of texts you get on the weekend, people wanting you to go to their party, the club, their parent’s vacation house, spend money on drugs like it’s some form of self expression.

He knew people of good character, too. The ones he met at concerts and in art classes, at the lips of fountains in the park, each of them so unique they start to blur together. The boy with the choppy bangs and big mouth who loved photography of grimy places, warehouses and street corners that he somehow captured to look beautiful. Nursey can't remember his name. The girl that ran away to New York when her parents only accepted her as a son, not a daughter. They're friends on Facebook  but she doesn't post very often.

So he thinks growing up his experiences shaped him a bit differently than what Dex knows. By sixteen he learned the responsibility of getting your friends home safely, when they're too high off of Valium to flag down a ride, learned the disappointment of pulling them from the bathroom a little too late, nose powdered white and wallet empty. It's a different responsibility than the whole ‘being the big brother’ thing.

“What’s it like? Having that many siblings?”

“Loud. Stressful. Never boring.” Dex’s face has softened when he nudges Nursey with his knuckles, flattening his hand back on to his thigh, “Quit stalling.”

“I’m not. I just think I wouldn’t have anything to say to them. Nothing interesting, anyways. Always just small talk.”

“High school Derek seems like a joy to be around.”

Nursey laughs dryly and watches out the window, “Yeah, high school me was a little shit– turn left at the next light –partied a lot, blasted music, pretty angsty. Thought he was edgy.”

“You wear eyeliner?”

“ _No_.”

Dex snickers anyways. It's a nice sound. “I didn't really have friends until high school. A lot of people knew each other from sports teams and clubs but either they were too expensive to join or I had to stay home and help out,” he offers the information like a _thank you, I scratch your back you scratch mine_ , “And then my cousin, Shan, started dating this hockey player who gave me his old equipment. And I'd practice in my uncle's garage until I made the team.”

“Does, like, your entire bloodline live in the same town? Is half of the population Poindexters?”

“Hilarious.”

“For real, I don’t see my cousins unless it's a holiday or wedding,” and when that’s the case Nursey tries to avoid them, anyways, “You would hate them, D. Totally pretentious.”

“Sounds like _you_ hate them.”

“Eh, it's not that bad if you swipe enough eggnog and find an old person and play Guess What Number Marriage They're On.”

It's supposed to be a joke, albeit self-deprecating, still a joke, but Dex responds with a kind of pitiful, poorly subtle look, “That’s what you’re doing for Christmas?”

“Family’s family, you know?” Nursey finishes off the coffee with a large gulp, the car slowing down as the GPS ends the route, “Unfortunately.”

“Where should I park?”

Nursey looks back in the rearview mirror to the pile of their shit stacked up to the roof of the car; duffel bags of clothing, pillows, workout equipment, books, laptops, everything they needed to relocate from their dorm back home in order to survive winter break. It’s a lot of stuff. “Across the street. We should leave the driveway open for when they get home.”

Dex nods an affirmative and parks parallel to the house, asking when they get out, “When do you think that’ll be?”

They move to opposite sides of the car, rummaging through the mess of a mountain in the back seat, “Like, six or seven, so we have a while. Hand me that red bag?”

“Is it okay if we leave pretty quickly after they arrive? I don’t want to miss the show.”

“We’re going to a show?”

Apparently Dex had planned their date in the time it took Nursey to pack this morning, keeping the details to the minimum as some sick sort of revenge for Nursey taking so long to sort through his entire wardrobe before deciding what to bring. While Nursey doesn't _need_ to look the best at family gathering, it gives him something to look forward to and helps him dodge interrogation by aunts and uncles because such a well-dressed man must have his life perfectly planned out, right?

“We’ll probably have to make another trip to the car if we want to get all this out,” Dex says instead of answering, yanking his duffel bag free from the bottom. Not that Nursey was expecting an answer anyways.

“Cool, I'll bring this in.” Nursey's strapped like a camel, carrying what must be more than fifty pounds of luggage. Except the walk across the street is a significantly short distance compared to vastness of the desert.

Dex pokes his head up over the roof of the car, “Is the house unlocked?”

“Good question.” Nursey might have overlooked that detail. “I'm guessing not.”

“Do you have a key?”

“Uh.” He left it in his locker at Faber, he thinks. Or maybe he it’s under a desk at Founder’s again. He loses his key ring a lot. “No?”

“So we’re locked out in the snow.”

“It’s _barely_ an inch. Just gimme a sec,” Nursey steps up the curb and crouches near a bush, the ground crunching under his boots, the hem of his coat sitting in snow, and blindly pats around, “I left a spare somewhere under here I think.”

“In the dirt under a bush. Genius.” Dex shuts the door and crosses the street, bags in his arms and hanging by his shoulders, and watches over Nursey, looking a little too entertained by the situation, “You know, someone could have buried a body there. Or maybe you’ll find a dismembered finger.”

“Look who’s being funny now,” Nursey squats lower, reaches a little further, tongue poking out in concentration until, “Got it, I think.”

“Key or finger?”

He pulls his hand from under the bush and steadies himself, the metal reflecting and shining light in his eyes, “Key. You’re watching too many horror movies. Or sleeping through too many, I guess.”

“ _B_ _abadooook_.”

Nursey shoves Dex as they walk up the steps, laughing, “Shut up.” He flexes the icey chill out if his fingers before pressing the key into the lock, breath visible before they step in, “Make sure you take off your shoes.”

Dex does as instructed before following the scattering of photos that run along the wall to the kitchen, pausing at the family photo they took on a cruise, possibly ten years ago, the three of them with wind blowing in their face and tangling their hair, standing in front of a blue horizon that stretches as far as their smiles. It's one of his favorite memories of them, no matter how embarrassing his swim trunks were. Dex shuffles to the next picture, then the one after, and it's hard not want to know what he makes of it all-- the pale paint, white leather sofa nearly blending in, chrome appliances and glass surfaces without so much as a fingerprint on them. Nursey wonders if the maids still come every Monday now that he’s moved out and not trashing the house every weekend.

“‘I'll bring this stuff up to my room-- get situated or whatever. Bathrooms right there if you gotta piss,” Nursey offers when they reach the kitchen, Dex stopped at the grid of cards and pictures stuck to the side of the fridge. He replies with a hum of acknowledgement, hands clasped behind his back like he's at a museum, not allowed to get close to the display.

Hopefully the organized chaos of Nursey's room settles whatever alienation Dex feels. Or he maybe doesn't feel. Nursey's just making shit up at this point, trying to preoccupy his thoughts with things other than the specifics of _Are we gonna share a bed? What will my parents think of it when we do? At that point shouldn't I just introduce him as my boyfriend? Would Dex be cool with that? Is Dex actually cool with any of this? Or am_ I _not being cool about this?_

He nudges his door open and breathes. _Its cool_ , he tells to himself and the Stevie Wonder poster tacked above his desk, _it's cool._ Nursey drops their bags at the foot of his bed, stopping to realize how much he’s missed the white sheets and his record player, a drawer full of old journals, the familiarity in the smell of being home. The plants by his window have been watered but aside from that everything’s the same, not from a lack of concern but from a mutual respect of privacy. He appreciates it.

If this were a typical winter break he’d be halfway across the city right now, hanging with old friends and getting into new sorts of trouble, making the required cameos at family dinner when necessary. This isn’t typical winter break, though. Dex’s convinced Nursey that this is good for him. Nursey’s convinced that Dex is what’s good for him.

It’s good. It’s cool.

“Mangoes? Pink Himalayan salt? Organic cacao nibs? What the actual fuck, Derek.” Dex looks up when he hears Nursey come down the stairs, typical ‘ _I cannot believe these people exist’_ face as he stands at the island counter.

“Yeah?” Nursey grabs the handles of the remaining bags that didn't make it upstairs, “What about it?”

“Only your family would buy mangoes in the off season.  Seriously. The price is way jacked up in the winter. Does your salt have to be pink? And what's a cacao nib?” He's either making fun of Nursey or genuinely confused. It's hard to tell.

“Ok, first, Dex, my house, my rules. Rule number one is no haters. You're being a major hater right now.”

“This isn’t technically your house.”

“Rule number two,” Nursey continues, “if you pee off the balcony, aim for the hydrangeas. It’s good for the soil.”

“Why would I pee from the balcony?”

“And rule number three: fuck authority.”

Dex tilts his head, squints his eyes, and after a beat challenges, “Aren’t you authority if you’re the one establishing rules?”

He makes a point. Damn.

They haven't had any classes together, and Nursey's always assumed Dex is _that guy_ who thrives off of proving the teacher wrong, but Chowder’s said that Dex is creepy quiet and just takes notes, so maybe Dex saves his smart-mouth comments for Nursey. How thoughtful.

Still, sometimes being a smart-ass comes back to bite you in the ass, “In that case you should _definitely_ fuck authority. Help me carry the rest of these bags upstairs? To my _bedroom_?”

“No finesse whatsoever,” Dex rolls his eyes, amused crinkles in the corners, and follows behind Nursey, who misses a step when Dex says, “but I mean, if your parents aren't home for a while…”

**/w/**

“You’re sure your parents won’t mind us coming back late? Shouldn't I at least introduce myself first?” Dex runs a towel through his hair and unclings his shirt’s fabric from sticking to his chest.

Nursey, on the other hand, still hasn't changed after his shower. If it weren't so drafty in his room he probably wouldn't be wearing underwear either, but so be it. He's home and allowed to be as naked as he pleases.

He turns off his phone, the _‘Coming home later than anticipated, we’ll bring back dinner_ ’ text specifically, and lets it drop somewhere beside him, bouncing a couple times before getting lost in a crack between pillows, “Nah, their fault for working overtime,” Nursey moves his head to look up at Dex, shifting his eyes from the ceiling, from the stark white to clumps of wet, dark red hair plastered and pushed around Dex’s forehead, “That cool?”

“Sure, yeah.”

Nursey turns his head back to the ceiling, his mind just as blank. There's the sound of shuffling bags and a zipper, Dex presumably looking through his suitcase on the floor, popping up briefly just so that that his shoulders upward are visible at the foot of the bed, “I can't tell if you like your parents or not.”

Nursey ponders it as Dex is occupied. “They did the best they could and I'm thankful, you know? I could be blaming them for things that don't really matter. Or maybe I guess I could just like being dramatic about the whole thing.”

The edge of the bed dips as Dex tugs socks over his feet, speaking after a puff of laughter, “You're the one who said it, not me.”

“Hey,” Nursey whines, trying to kick Dex off the bed, but he’s standing up before any damage is done, looking at Nursey critically with his arms crossed.

“Think you're gonna get dressed any time soon?”

Nursey doesn't make a move to get up, “Only if you tell me where we’re going. In detail. Need to plan layers accordingly.”

“Just put on one of your stupid _‘I'm too cool to be cold_ ’ outfits and let's go.”

“First, I sound nothing like that. Second, you're sleeping on the floor if you don't tell me where we're going. No joke.”

“About that,” Dex plops himself in the desk chair and swivels side to side as Nursey rolls out of bed, “What’s the sleeping situation like? Are we sharing or–?”

Nursey stands in front of his closet, scratches his stomach and pulls a shirt off its hanger, Dex next to him, “Up to you, man. There's the couch and a blow-up mattress too, so. Your call.”

Nursey can't say he's not hopeful for waking up together, lazy mornings with spilled sunlight, fingers laced or legs twined. But it's never that simple, not when there's always going to be another person to come out to, beyond relatives and close friends, but the acquaintances that raise their brows when they hear, ‘ _my boyfriend… husband… partner…’_. Ten years down the line there'll be coworkers and bosses to be concerned with, where even when equal marriage is legal, in twenty eight out of fifty states a person can still be fired for being gay.

But this, this is the first step for them. They've already dipped their toes in the water, now stalling  by the side of the pool on the cusp of diving in.

“I’d like to share the bed, I think.”

“Yeah?” Nursey smiles as he buttons his shirt, tone a blend of hope and calmness although something blooms inside his chest.

Dex's face is lit like a jar of fireflies, a soft glow of a smile, “Yeah.” It's an expression he doesn't wear often, something to make note of every time it occurs; the relaxed slump of his shoulders, cheeks a little rounder, comfort in his features, no trace of an ounce of concern.

It's a look that covers the subtle _what if’s_ , the ways it could go wrong, because he's said so himself that there's a lot at risk. To live in a world where sometimes the people closest to your heart are the ones who are least accepting.

“If you change your mind later it's cool. Just lemme know, kay?”

“I'm not gonna change my mind.” Dex can be stubborn, Nursey knows. Like the times when he has to prove himself right in an argument, the self-exertion he reaches in practice when he needs the technique to be _just so_ , the hours he’s burnt trying to fix Betsy even though the old oven was a lost cause because he's not one to give up easily. But in this regard, a finality to his voice, convincing if not authoritative, Nursey thinks Dex understands it too– how this past month is a blink of an eye in the grand scheme of things, but enough time to tell them this is worth it, to be stubborn when the world's against you, to fight hand in hand.

But, unfortunately, not all wars are won.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [song link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qJmok8VhjmE) for the end scene! (will also be placed in-text so you don't have to scroll back up here)

**/x/**

Nursey doesn't want to get out of bed. Why would he, when there's a warm body beside his to hold on to, the sounds of morning life on the streets outside, vision still a little bleary from waking up, the replay of live jazz and creamy pasta from last night, walking around Harlem with cold noses, like they had the city to themselves.

There's another knock on his door–the third one, maybe–and he groans into the pillow, mumbling a groggy ‘ _ go away’  _ that gets lost in the air between the bed and the other side of the wall.

“Answer it,” Dex’s back is turned against Nursey but it's safe to assume that he doesn't bother opening his eyes when he speaks, half-coherent.

There's another short rap of knuckles against the door, his mom calling his name in a tone teetering on impatient at this point.

“You're not the one that has to get up,” Nursey makes huffs of protest and complaint, pulling on sweatpants halfway to the door, not really bothering with a shirt because hopefully this’ll be over soon and he can get back to his warm cocoon of blankets, cracking the door open just enough to slip his body through, “Morning.”

There’s the procedural embrace, his mother’s arms wrapped in a brief hug with a chaste kiss on his cheek, before she flits to the dining room, Nursey trudging behind and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with his knuckles. She's twittering about breakfast– no, a brunch with ‘ _ guests arriving very soon, be sure to clean yourself up and make an appearance _ .’

It's nine-thirty in the morning and way too fucking early for this.

Nursey stands in the middle of the kitchen, watching his mother’s swift movements as sweeps between rooms, setting the table and pouring drinks into pitchers, as if she's set on overdrive. He's learned to stay back rather than get in the way when she's like this if he wants to avoid accidents or injury. “Where's–”

“Ran to the store to pick up flowers,” she answers in a rushed manner, transferring food from the counter to the table. Nursey looks out the window and sure enough there’s a car missing from the driveway.

He supposes to some people it'd be surprising to wake up to this, but to him it's a familiar scene: the arrangement of cutlery and how light seems to bounce off the surface of the plates, each setting with its own empty glass twinkling, not a crease in a single napkin, a setup that screams status and paints a rather glamorous picture for taking place in a family home.

It's not until there's a lull of movement, no fussing over centerpieces or trays wrapped in tinfoil, how there's no room to fit the bowl of fruit salad in the fridge, just the two of them standing side by side in the kitchen, in a bubble of quiet, that his mom speaks up, her head reaching his shoulder, looking up at him with an inquisitively raised brow, eyes green and earthly, “The person you brought home last night–”

This, too, is familiar. “Boy, Mom. I brought a boy home.”

“Are they the one you mentioned when you called?”

Said conversation took place a week after Dex agreed to the plans, after a few attempts of reaching either parents’ number and being sent to voicemail. Talking to his parents on the phone always feels like a professional call, brief, concise, to the point. ‘– _ and I'm having a friend stay over for the first week of break. They go to Samwell too… Yes, I’m studying. My grades are fine… The team actually– oh. That’s fine. Nevermind. Okay, bye _ .’

Nursey pours himself a cup of orange juice, something else to focus on than his mom’s interrogation or the bitter taste of morning breath in his mouth, taking a swig before he replies, “Yeah, Dex. Or, uh, Will, I guess.”

“Your friend from Samwell.”

“And teammate.”

There's a glint in her eye, empowered and disconcerting and Nursey bets that look alone is what has made her a successful prosecutor, “That's all, huh?”

Nursey’s empty glass clinks as he sets it in the sink, voice edging on defensive but the whole scenario a little too familiar to have any real bite to his words, “You already know the answer so I don't know why you bother asking. You always do this.”

“Does he treat you well?”

“We’re really doing this?” His question’s answered by the expectant lift of her features, Nursey relenting timidly, “Yes, he treats me well.”

“Any criminal record?”

Considering how much Dex freaked out when campus police showed up to the Haus for a noise complaint at their first party as frogs, “No.”

“Concerning habits?”

_ Always has a stick up his butt. Doesn't understand hip-hop. His hair is too soft. Dumb ears. Pretty eyes. All of which is very concerning. _ “No.”

There's a laundry list of qualifications and concerns, he knows, but his mother’s jaw snaps shut when the doorbell rings, the first guest having arrived. He finds some satisfaction in that there still aren't flowers on the table.

“Sounds more promising than the strays you've brought in before. Let's hope he delivers, for both our sakes,” his mom pats down her hair and checks her teeth for lipstick in the reflection of the hallway mirror, kissing his cheek before sending a final, cagey look and trotting off to resume her role as hostess.

Nursey retreats back upstairs, but not without swiping a couple bananas and muffins off the counter. And he leaves stealthily, at that, not wanting a guest to catch a whiff of his presence and talk his ear off for two hours. There's a general trend where, the more successful a person is, the more they think people care what they're saying. At least that's what he's observed.

Upstairs, though, Nursey’s free to avoid the company and let his eyes follow Dex, who opens the door of the bathroom across the hall from the bedroom, hair still rumbled but eyes a little more open, toothbrush in one hand, other rubbing the back of his neck.

“Hey,” Nursey greets, shuffling a step closer, “Sorry about that.”

Dex is obviously still tired, Nursey able to imagine the cogs of his brain turning slowly, steadily, until he eventually blinks and asks, “Everything alright?”

“Yeah. Banana? Muffin?” Nursey holds out his offering of a breakfast.

It doesn't seem like the answer Dex was expecting, but he grabs one of each none the less, “Thanks. Are there people downstairs?”

“Apparently my parents are hosting a brunch.”

Dex pokes his head over Nursey’s shoulder to try to get a look downstairs where there's unintelligible commotion, “That's why she woke you up?”

“And to ask about you.”

“Oh,” Dex pulls back and examines Nursey’s features, scanning it in for a clue until he eventually has to prompt, “And?”

“I mean, obviously they're going to want to meet you,” Nursey explains, tugging Dex into his bedroom and closing the door because he’d like a physical barrier between them and the people downstairs, say, a couple inches of wood and a door knob with a nice lock on it, “Probably gonna drag us to dinner, get ready for  _ that _ , but you have a nice start, so it's cool.”

“Cool,” Dex echoes, looking at nothing in particular, probably not aware that Nursey had just dragged him a couple yards.

“Anyways,” Nursey takes the breakfast out of both of their hands and sets it in the desk, doesn't actually have an appetite anyways, used it for more of a distraction. He flattens his palm against Dex’s chest, watches Dex snap back into focus, but maybe still the slightest bit consumed in thought. His hands move to rest against Nursey’s hips absent-mindedly, as Nursey elaborates, “We otherwise have the day to ourselves. Thoughts?”

Dex considers it for a moment, lets a yawn escape, “What do you usually do?”

“Dunno,” Nursey traces the design of Dex’s hoodie with his eyes, and maybe even he’s guilty of not really having his thoughts together, either, when he says a little distractedly, “Kind of just hang out with friends.”

“I don't want to stop you from seeing them–”

“No, I'm really not missing out on anything. I like you better, anyways. Don't look so fucking smug about it, asswipe.”

“I'm not,” Dex’s shit-eating grins says otherwise, “I just have you whipped  _ so bad _ .”

“Fuck off,” Nursey pushes against Dex’s chest to jostle him, snickers at how he wobbles, despite pulling Nursey with him, before steadying the both of them. Nursey sends one last warning look that Dex holds back a laugh at before continuing, “But seriously, we have the day to ourselves. Name it and we do it. World meet oyster type of shit.”

There's a beat of contemplation, and then,

“Is this you coming onto me?”

Nursey sputters out a reply, trying to figure why Dex jumped to that conclusion, “Why would you– we have guests downstairs.”

Dex repeats his question, his voice a cocktail of curiosity and arrogance, “Is it?”

Which, no, was not really Nursey’s intention, but it'd be a refreshing change in tempo from this morning’s start. What he's trying to say is that he’d totally be down, could do with some act of rebellion. And it's good to know Dex doesn't feel obligated to offer sexual favors, and rather finds pleasure in it too. Still,“I think you're hearing what you want to hear, D.” Nursey slides his hands from Dex’s chest to underneath the hem of the sweatshirt, pressing cold fingers into a warm torso, straining his ears to see how much chatter he can detect from downstairs. The door does a good job at absorbing noise, but to make sure, “Think you could keep quiet?”

Dex scoffs, smile smaller but still prominent, “Think  _ you  _ could keep quiet?”

So sue him if Nursey likes to be vocal. If it really comes to it, there's pillows or skin to bite into if he can't hold back his tongue, and actually, the more he thinks, the more he knows this is definitely a bad idea.

He looks around the room, from the bed, along the walls, up to the curtains, and thinks,  _ fuck it _ , before tossing his concerns out the window.

**/y/**

Nursey doesn't mind how early it gets dark in the winter; it means more nightlife and the city glows in a buzzing sort of energy. He can feel it from here, body sprawled in the wicker couch on the patio, exhaling a thick, milky smoke with each hit he takes from the bowl pressed to his lips. Dex’s head lays in his lap, eyes closed but still very much awake, more serene than anything. While Dex doesn't smoke–never tried it, not very interested–he doesn't mind, not when a warm blanket and fingers weaving through his hair is incentive enough to keep Nursey company.

Nursey finishes off the last of the weed he packed into the bowl, taps it against the armrest, lets the flakes of dark ash flitter onto the deck. He scratches behind Dex’s ear to grab his attention, voice still thick with smoke, “I think they like you. Said that you're a ‘ _ promising and responsible young man _ ’,” when he laughs his mouth’s gone all cottony, limbs kind of like jelly, “You did really well, Will. Except when you used the wrong fork.”

“What’s the need for different forks, anyways?” Dex mumbles, blinking his eyes open to ask, “Did they really say that?”

“About the forks? No. But you did a job, babe.” He runs his hand through the fringe that graces Dex’s forehead, lets the hair slip through the cracks of his fingers. 

It's not perfectly quiet, can never really be, not with cars whizzing below, honking, tires licking up the slush from the other day’s light snow, just to spit it back out, winter tainted the dirty greys of sidewalks, trampled on by boots. A few rooms shine light around the neighborhood, spilling from the cracks of blinds or simply shining warm squares of warmth into the night, maybe a mother up late to will their child to sleep, or someone staying awake to finish writing a report due in the morning, could be a college kid carelessly passed out drunk without flicking the lights off. It's easy for Nursey to entertain himself in these thoughts, high off of more than just life.

“I don't think you give your parents enough credit,” Dex mentions, and just that, a small mention. How one would mention the weather.

Nursey tries not to focus on how he can see the reflection of the lights in Dex’s eyes, tries his best to pay attention, “What do you mean?”

“Their concern might be annoying, but everything they do is for you. It'd be enough to put food on the table every night, but they put in those hours to pay for private school and a nice roof over your head. Just, as an outsider’s opinion, I think they really love you.”

“Yeah,” Nursey doesn't give it much thought, doesn't have time to wonder if he's thinking straight when he glides his thumb across Dex's temple and says, “they're pretty good people, I guess.”

There's more not-silence in which Nursey closes his eyes, focuses on the air and the way it feels fuzzy when he breathes, right down to his stomach. Like he's swallowed an orchard of peaches.

“My family’s gonna go crazy when you meet them.”

Nursey keeps both eyes shut and feels another tree bloom inside his chest, “Yeah?” 

“Ciara and her friends will think you're cute. Watch out for that. Peter and Ian are gonna wrestle you until they win,” Dex goes on, a whim of fantasy to his words, “Mom and Dad will probably have their pants charmed off the moment you step inside.”

It's something they haven't discussed, Dex coming out to his family. He sounds so confident about it, so dead-set on this plan that Nursey cracks an appreciative smile, “You think you're ready to tell them?”

“In high school I used to get really embarrassed when my whole family would show up to games and cheer for me even when I sat on the bench,” Dex explains, a gentle recollection, “when I told my mom and she said it's hard not to show off the things you love.

And I think I understand it a lot better now.”

**/z/**

Early mornings hold their own advantages, too. There's no obligations, just the feeling that the world rests at your fingertips rather than your shoulders.

Nursey feels this here, sitting at the edge of the roof, an old, empty beer bottle rolling in the slight breeze, pavement gritty and cold like blocks of ice, the area untouched other than the small patch of snow the size of a beach towel that lays like a welcome mat at the top of the ladder.

It's a little haven where he’s left alone to collect his thoughts, feel the chill against his back.

“Thought I'd find you up here.”

Nursey turns his head, finds Dex standing behind him, apparently too consumed to hear the squeak of the rusty latter. He scoots over, feet dangling off the edge, allowing Dex to wrap a blanket around over both their shoulders. “How’d you know?”

“Left the window open,” Dex pats around until he finds Nursey’s hand under blanket, giving it a squeeze, “Nowhere else to go except up.”

Nursey nods, leans his head on Dex’s shoulder, embraces the company in an otherwise lonely space.

“What time do you think it is in California?” Dex asks out of the blue, voice earnest.

“Three hours behind, so like, four in the morning. You skyping Chowder later?”

“Yeah, when I get home tonight,” he looks up from the ledge and back to Nursey, eyebrows scrunching as he examines, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Nursey wonders if his smile’s just as dopey as it feels, lips like mush when he says, “You're such a softie.”

Dex mutters in disagreement, bumps their shoulder together, “Shuddup.”

“Nah, it's true. You're always fixing stuff in the Haus or giving Chowder your jacket–”

“Yeah, but I  _ like  _ to fix things. And it's  _ Chowder _ .”

“And you care about people. Like,” Nursey holds his hands in front of him, palms up, and makes a single clenching motion to emphasize, “really _ aggressive  _ caring.”

Dex doesn't take offense to it, is more entertaining Nursey than himself when he prompts, “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Last time I got sick and you yelled and me for like, ten minutes straight, dude.”

“You never wear a jacket and you were being stupid.”

“It was pretty stupid to be late to class just so you could get me soup from the cafeteria,” Nursey  _ tsk’ _ s and admonishes Dex.

“Yeah, whatever.”

Nursey snorts, feeling light with the atmosphere, like he could float up to the clouds if there were any. It's how he’s felt this whole week with Dex, actually, careless and drifting through little moments, trinkets of time. He takes this and thinks for a second before slipping out from underneath the blanket, retreating down the ladder, “Wait right there.” He leaves Dex with a twist of confusion in his features, a look that makes Nursey think Dex  would make a good muse for a masterpiece, with the start of a morning as the backdrop, cheeks rosy, the whole scene somber and beautiful.

Nursey ducks through window, well-practiced but still a bit clumsy as slides down the wall until he has both feet planted on the floor. The house is silent, and it feels like the world's being silent, too, allowing him this moment of serenity. He pulls the stack of papers neatly paper clipped and kept safe in a folder from one of his suitcases before grabbing the guitar from the back of his closet, slinging the string across his chest to wear the instrument like a backpack. There's some finagling involved in getting both himself and the guitar back out the window, papers securely clutched in his hands, but he manages to pull himself up the ladder, not minding the extra weight on his back.

“Since you're leaving today and we won't see each other for Christmas,” Nursey's preludes, still a rung or two of the ladder too low to see Dex yet, “I was hoping I could give it to you now.”

Dex twists with piqued interest, not having moved from the ledge, as he tries to watch as Nursey hoists himself to stand up. Dex eyes the guitar, speaks blatantly in his observations, “You remember we set a price limit, right?”

“Relax, D, just borrowing it from a friend.”

“Is that where you went when I was working out?” Dex asks out of curiosity, a slight downward pull to his eyebrows as he watches Nursey's movement, like he's trying to follow Nursey’s line of thought.

“Mhm,” Nursey hums in confirmation, settling down besides Dex and offering the guitar for Dex to take, “So I can't take all the credit for this,” he starts explaining, the stack of papers on his hands thin but feeling heavier, more than the weight of words on his palms, “I only wrote the lyrics, really, and got some help from a music major to do the actual notes and composition part– and you don't have to sing or anything, but.” Nursey stops himself from fumbling with words, lets his hands do that for him as he offers the sheets he's been holding near his chest, “[This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qJmok8VhjmE) is for you.”

Dex takes it carefully, eyes skimming over the front page before meeting with Nursey’s, something humbling in the smile he offers. The guitar’s a chunky barrier between them, Dex’s lips landing clumsily along the ridge of Nursey’s jaw, warm and lingering. There are no words exchanged between them after that, just the pluck of strings as Dex figures out the chords. Nursey watches, reveling in the moment, wonders if he could've ever predicted them ending up here, wonders if he could ever predict where they'll be later on.

Dex does sing, soft like the notes that waft into the air, low like thump in Nursey's chest. Private but so in public, sitting above the street, on display to the world.

_ You take me higher than I’ve gone. _

It must be a sight to see, two boys sitting on the ledge of a roof, feet dangling just as their hearts do from their sleeves, one with skin flushed as red as the sky.

_ You are my moon I am your sun. _

Nursey sucks it in, through his nose down spine, tries to hold on to it with his hands.

_ Sometimes I drift like autumn leaves, _

_ Please hold me still so I can breathe. _

Over the horizon morning peaks from behind the buildings, orange and pink and familiar, reliable. There'll always be the rise and fall of day, the push and pull of the tides, and, Nursey hopes, this hand to hold beside him.

The notes fade, just an echo in their ears now, and Dex has noticed it too, how gradually the colors spill to paint the sky.

Nursey bumps their ankles together to grab Dex’s attention, never mind that he already has it, neither of them  _ not _ able to focus on the body beside them. He tips his head up and motions across from them, as if they're not encompassed by the sunrise all around, “You gonna take a pic for your mom?”

“Nah,” Dex's smile is private and soft, just as the way he sets down the guitar and leans into Nursey’s side, watching the sky like it's quite the spectacle, Nursey watching Dex just the same, “This one’s ours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok, so. wow. this is over. my first fic. took waaay longer than I anticipated, but here it is in all its glory. I have another project under works, so keep an eye out for that! thanks for all the support from you guys, comments and kudos really gave me motivation even when I was second-guessing everything I wrote :-) till next time, neslow


End file.
